Expectations
by Von
Summary: Sequel to Revelations. Jak's Dark has been balanced by Light. His secret is known. War comes to Spargus. Jak needs to step up and be the Mar his people need... but Mar died a long time ago.
1. Chapter 1

It LIIIIIIVES!

My apologies and gratitude to every single reader (you three know who you are :P) who has stuck by me. This is just an average fic about an idea we all want to see happen.. so I appreciate your patience, bullying, prodding, requests and attention.

Unfortunately, I didn't manage to finish this story by Christmas. On the upside, I do have a good five chapters ready to go, so I'll aim for weekly updates until the end of January and then go for fortnightly updates afterwards. (As you can no doubt tell from the timing, that's when I go back to school.)

Special mention must be made of **Kitsuna** who can be pinpointed as the reason there are now five chapters ready to go, as opposed to the bits and pieces I had lying around before.

Jeeze, over a year and a half since the last story... I wouldn't blame any of you if you had forgotten all about this..

Oh yes! As my writing style has changed a little, please bear with me. I now have an ugly love affair with hyphens and the POV craziness is calmer.. if not entirely gone..

To _Adelita Latigazo_, regarding the only thing Jak cared about: I think my problem is that I see Jak and Daxter as so close that they're almost one person at times. :D Plus, it's a proven fact that Dark Jak doesn't munch on ottsels when he goes "grrr".. no matter how badly. No-one else has that distinction though, so in the _that_ classification of 'person', Sig is alone. :D But thanks for catching that!

Nods to _Youko Rayah _for having one of the longest reviews – I LOVE detailed likes and dislikes, it helps me focus on what I'm doing right and what desperately needs to be done better! I still grin over our misunderstandings of "the C word". I doubt I will ever write about Damas' wife in any great depth.. but you never know when her ghost might show up.

_GrammarNazi101_, I shall endeavor to restrict my POV changes to separate sections of the chapter. Please feel free to point out when I fail at it.. :D (Because I will.)

_RingWorks_ I hope you enjoy how Damas reacts. _Bluumberry_ I hope you're still reading – here's the part I deprived you of!_ PrecursorQueen_, you honoured me so much when you told me you joined ff.n just to story!alert it. I hope you author!alerted me too so that you get this in your inbox!I can't name many more names without seriously pushing the Author's Notes Limitations, but THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU for reviewing if ever you have and I hope that you continue to do so. (Anyone who logs in to do so will always be replied to)

Above all, I hope this sequel is worth the wait. **(Bites fingernails)**

_(Very slight bashing of some characters. No more than was in the final chapter of the last story, but some aspects of them have been written in a slightly bad light.)_

"There's more to a person than blood. And I'm not really a person. Not anymore." ~ Jak

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

Revelations:  
Previously;

"Sig?" He glanced up. The Wastelander on clerk duty today – she'd been injured in a recent skirmish with the Marauders – gestured to him.

It was his turn to see the King.

It was time to take out the seal and explain to his old friend that he had lost his little boy, but still found his son.

He had to tell the King a story and somehow make him believe it, without dragging every person involved in it in for interrogation.

He had to pray that Damas wouldn't react badly, that he'd at least try to accept the reality of his older, warrior son.

For Jak's sake, as well as his Father's… he had to find a way to allow each of them to accept the other.

He nodded and strode towards the lift, peacemaker in hand.

He'd do his best.

_Precursors, please let my best be enough._

**Expectations**

**Chapter 1  
**

"Sig." Damas greeted, eyes crinkling in warm welcome. Those same eyes almost immediately flickered past the Wastelander, searching for a shorter blond.

"I was given to understand that Jak would be accompanying you." Damas stated questioningly, eyebrows raising slightly at Sig's wince.

"Yeah, that's my bad." Sig admitted. "He, ah.. heard I was sniffing around about his past."

Damas nodded slowly, eyes flickering to the patch of sun-saturated stone where the boy had been recuperating just yesterday.

"I take it he reacted badly." He observed neutrally.

Sig nodded. "Yeah, but to be honest, he had every right to. His past is.. damn nasty and damn personal. I'm a little surprised he didn't take a swing at me."

The King remained silent, clearly thinking it over.

"I received a message from Seem." He shared at length. "Apparently, the event that repaired the boy's dark eco damage also had some side effects – including increased mental and emotional stability. Perhaps you have that to thank."

Sig nodded. It made sense.

"It's probably best that he's not here, actually." He started cautiously. "In fact, I think you might wanna sit down, Damas."

The use of his first name – permitted, of course, but rare – caught the King's attention. He studied Sig's face, his eyes widening sharply.

"You found... something." The man stumbled over the word, as clearly Sig had not brought his son back. The reasons why he wouldn't have were few and none of them good.

"Yes and no." Sig answered, immediately irritated with himself for giving such an unhelpful answer. "Look, bottom line, he's still alive. That I can promise you."

Damas stared at him, naked hope and unrestrained suspicion of the supposed good news warring for control.

He stepped backwards and sank into his throne.

"Explain." He ordered.

"Ok." Sig murmured, sorting all the facts in his head, working out where the beginning really was in this twisted tale.

"Alright, I'll start by telling you about Jak. The two are very connected And Damas...this is gonna sound like a yarn – or a nightmare – at times. But I swear to you" Sig locked eyes with his liege and oldest friend. "I swear on my honor, every word I tell you is true."

Damas nodded, slowly. Sig drew a deep breath and expelled it sharply.

"Alright. So, Jak. Jak first came to Haven city when he was fifteen, from a little place called Sandover. A real sea-side little village. Now, it ain't on any map, as you know, 'an that's because it was wiped out by Metal Heads.. about five hundred years ago."

Damas frowned sharply. Sig nodded.

"That's right. Our boy Jak is a time traveler. He wasn't alone, neither. Him, his little furball best friend, his girlfriend and the Green Sage were with him."

"Samos?" Damas interrupted. "That hack? He was old even when I was a boy and _still_ hadn't managed to gain any powers."

Sig snorted. "Well, being the leader of the Underground has perks. He ordered Jak to protect him whilst he connected with the planet to gain his powers."

"As I understood it, a Sage was meant to undergo the trials of their position alone, much like the line of Mar." Damas growled. "Hence his failure to obtain any powers thus far."

Sig shrugged. "You'd know better than me, Sire."

Damas glared at nothing for a moment before returning his attention to Sig. "How could Samos be from the past? I grew up knowing that stuffed old stump."

"I'm getting to that." Sig assured. "When they arrived in our time, they were scattered. According to Daxter, he and Jak were attacked moments after landing. He was adamant that Errol knew Jak was coming. I don't know how and neither does Daxter, but considering there was never any record of Jak being processed as a criminal, I'd be inclined to believe him."

Damas nodded. "Errol was too high up in command to be walking the streets without a damned good reason." He mused. "And I don't like what kind of connections he must have had to know... Hmm. Carry on."

Sig nodded.

"Jak was immediately conscripted into something called the Dark Warrior Program. Torn was a part of it briefly, but it was the final straw and he quit shortly after its conception."

Sig paused, weighing how much he should tell the King. On the one hand, he wanted Damas to know just what his son had been through – what he'd _survived_. How strong that made him.

But on the other, it was Damas' _son_. When he knew that, the knowledge just might cause the storm Daxter was so certain was coming.

"It was.. base torture, at its worst." He stated finally. "I saw some records left over. Jak's, as s'matterofact. Damas, they took a kid – not even any face fuzz on him – and drugged him up, tied him down, split him open mind and body and fucked with it all. There were almost _sixty_ subjects in the program and less than a third survived even _half_ as long as Jak did."

Damas' face was blank, jaw set. He didn't look away, nor did he ask for more information.

He understood Sig's position and would take only the information Sig chose to give.

"Jak has.. _had_.. a talent for using Eco. If he'd been raised in your father's era, he'd have been some kinda sage prodigy. I think that was what enabled him to survive for so long. But the more success they had with Dark Eco doses, the more his other eco affinities burned away."

He paused, remembering that horrifying photo. "Then he.. started to mutate. Not always the way they wanted, though. His fingers growing claws was a happy accident, but they sawed off three sets of horns before resigning themselves to _that _little addition."

He took a slow, calming breath.

"But they never managed quite what they wanted. Jak could survive the eco they threw at him and he'd have moments of rage or strength, but they never lasted long. He just could not – or would not – make a sustained transformation."

He snorted, half in disbelief and half in admiration.

"And above all, he wasn't obedient. Nothing they did could make him back down. Errol tried.. well, he wrote a lot of enthusiastic reports about it, but even though he could terrify the kid.. he couldn't make him obey."

He cleared his throat.

"So, the DWP was declared a failure. Daxter tells me that Errol was due to execute Jak later that day, had the fuzzball himself not finally managed to locate and help break the kid out."

He frowned slightly. "I'm not sure how much of that last bit is accurate, to be honest. Chillipepper's a bit of a braggart, but.. Jak sure holds him in the highest esteem I've ever seen."

"So Jak and Daxter bust outta the joint. They get two whole streets away before they trip over a little green haired kid with Mar's medallion around his neck."

Damas drew a shocked breath. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting news of his son to be tossed into the story so casually.

"Woah, let me finish." Sig cautioned, as respectfully as he could.  
"The kid is being escorted by – and you're not gonna like this – Kor."

"KOR?!" Damas roared. "That filthy Metal Head piece of scum! _**Kor**_ had my _son_?!"

"That ain't the least of it." Sig returned grimly. "Samos – leader of the Underground – was the one who ordered it."

"That.. **miserable**, _**incompetent**__-_!" Damas leapt from his throne and stalked back and forth, hands fisting over and over, fury twisting his face. Foul, blistering invectives spewed from his mouth with every step.

The last time he'd been this furious was when someone had kidnapped his fouryear old son two years ago.

Sig shifted his posture into one a little less obtrusive.

"Well, at least the kid had Chubby with him. That little monster would have taken a chunk out of Kor if he'd tried anything." He offered carefully.

Damas, no less furious but a little more contained, stalked back to his throne.

"Hmph. I thought the beast had gotten himself lost in the Wasteland." He growled, before sighing slightly. "I'm.. glad he found Mar. I'm glad Mar had something familiar with him, watching over him."

Sig didn't make a sound, but inwardly he was chuckling. _Damas, you have no idea..._

"Kid sure took a shine to Jak, though." He offered. "Torn told me that whenever they needed the kid moved through the streets, they had to call Jak. The kid'd run off on anyone else sent to escort him – and he was damned good at it too. One time it took the Underground a week before they found him again."

Damas sighed heavily and sat back down. His eyes shone with a mixture of pride and grief.

"But he liked Jak." He repeated softly.

Sig got the feeling that that one piece of information raised Jak in the King's esteem more than any other before it.

"Yeah." Sig murmured. "Dax was tellin' me that he's got a snapshot of the two of them in his bar. Jak conked out in a bunk at the old HQ, with little Mar all curled up on top of him. Kids, you know.. they got better instincts than people, sometimes.

Anyway, Torn told me that they found the kid just wanderin' around. They didn't rescue him. So somehow, the kid escaped from whoever the hell kidnapped him in the first place."

"Kor?" Damas queried, a thread of anger in his voice.

"Hmm. Maybe." Sig said noncommittally. "I haven't been able to find anything more on _how_ it happened."

"So Jak starts makin' a name for himself in the Underground – You've heard my reports. In the meantime, Samos gets it into his head that what they really need to do, is destroy the Metal Head leader. Once that bastard is toast, he figures Praxis will loose most of the power he maintains because of them."

"It sounds almost logical." Damas muttered darkly. "And yet considering that the metal head leader was _under his nose _the whole damn time, I know I'm not going to like what he decides to do about it."

Sig didn't smile.

"He tried to get Mar to pass through the Tomb. To obtain the Precursor stone."

Damas' only response was the whitening of his knuckles as he gripped the stone armrest of his chair.

"Any idea just how he thought a _baby_ could pass the Trials of _Manhood_." He snarled.

Sig shook his head wordlessly.

"The doors opened for the kid – proving him to be Mar. But the guardian was quick on the uptake and refused to allow him in. Jak, damned impulsive problem-solver that he is, managed to dive in before the doors could close completely."

"Impulsive, yes. Idiotic, too." Damas muttered. "How did he expect to get out again? The doors wouldn't open for him."

"Well, apparently Samos yelled 'do something, Jak', so Jak did." Sig said carefully. Catching the ugly look that flashed over his liege's face, he hurried on. "An' getting out was kinda a moot point. Praxis had men following the group. They were captured and Praxis himself blasted his way in to steal the stone. Kor got Mar out somehow but Jak had to hotfoot it to evade recapture."

"After which he infiltrated the prison and rescued everyone before 'laying the smackdown' on Praxis on his way out." Damas recited with a small smile. "I remember your rather enthusiastic report."

Sig chuckled. "Yeah, it wasn't every day that a little five-foot-nuthin' trigger-happy rebel went about kicking the crap out of tyrannical rulers. I just wish I could've seen it."

Damas nodded. "But what happened to the stone? And what did Samos want with it in the first place?"

"Well, they both wanted the stone for the same reason – they just had different ideas on how to go about it. The Baron had it rigged up inside a bomb – courtesy of Krew – and I got the impression from Torn that Samos was hoping to tap into the stone's powers now that he was all Saged-up."

Damas glare could have scorched stone.

"He risked _my son's_ life in a fruitless pursuit of power." He said quietly. "If he ever steps foot in the Wasteland, I'll have him in the arena before he can draw breath."

"In his defence.." Sig started cautiously, keeping a weather eye open for any royal fits of rage "Torn seemed certain that the entire plan involving the stone – and Samos' sage awakening – was born from necessity and desperation. They had little hope and almost no workable plan. The Precursor stone was the last ray of light they were clinging to."

Damas snatched up his staff, grip flexing as though he wanted to go hunt down the sage right that second. "In desperation is a man's worth measured." He growled the age-old expression, stalking from one side of the dais to the other in repressed anger. "I suppose I have little right to be surprised. I knew the kind of men I was leaving behind."

He stopped his edgy movements and visibly calmed himself. Eyes still tight with seething emotion, he nevertheless appeared to calm and returned the staff to the wall and himself to his throne.

"Continue, Sig. And please.. do not keep me in suspense. Tell me what happened to Mar."

Sig's eye creased sympathetically and he nodded.

"Kor caught up with the Baron before Jak could. He killed the Baron and his men when he could not find the stone. Jak recovered it from a secondary bomb and brought it to the Metal Head nest... to the site of Mar's ancient weapon."

Damas shook his head. "If my son has only half the foresight that man had, our people will thrive."

Sig continued as if he hadn't been interrupted.

"By this point, Kor's forces had overrun the city, looking for the stone. Jak stormed the nest to find and kill him. When they arrived, however, Kor had the stone – taken from the gun. He also had Mar."

Damas tensed.

"His intention was to have Mar open the stone so he could consume the energy within." Here, Sig smiled broadly. "The Cherries didn't like that plan, though. Jak opened up a can of Dark Jak whoop-ass on Kor's scaly behind while Daxter got Mar to cover. Jak: 1, Kor: 0."

"And Mar?" Damas prompted.

"Safe and sound." Sig promised. "But, this is the part you're not gonna like. Jak's girlfriend – Samos' future-past daughter, don't ask – is a whiz at mechanics. She managed to re-construct the machine used to bring the lot of them to our time – partly from memory, substitution and parts she had Jak recover for her. The plan was to go back to their own time – it was what she had been working towards for two years."

"But Jak is still here." Damas mused. "Why didn't he go?"

"He did go, in a way." Sig said carefully. "His six year old self went, to be raised our time's Samos. Everyone from the past remained here."

Damas went very still.

"Daxter said it was something to do with paradoxes not collapsin' the universe, or something." Sig continued, hyper-aware of just how badly this could go. "Jak had come here from the past, and so he had to go to the past first, in order to complete-"

"Sig." Damas voice was very, very cold.

"Are you telling me. That my son. Is hundreds of years in the past, with that useless sonofabitch Sage.. and there's nothing I can do to get him _**back**_?!"

Sig bit his lip and started thinking about the quickest way to get Jak out of Spargus and Damas' reach. Kras city, maybe.

"I'm sayin', he _is _back." Sig explained, as gently – but firmly - as he possibly could. "I'm sayin', little Mar grew up _safe_ in sunny, sea-side Sandover. He grew up happy, with his best friend Daxter. I'm sayin', that when he was fifteen, he found a portal _back_."

Damas swallowed, hard.

"And was immediately re-captured, experimented on and _twisted_ into the killing machine known as Jak." He bit out viciously.

Sig winced.

_Aw, hell._ He thought dourly. _This ain't goin' well at all_.

* * *

End Chapter

***bites lip***


	2. Chapter 2

**  
Thanks for your responses to Chapter 1!**

I don't deserve readers as awesome as you!

I decided to post this a little early as I expect to be sleeping my New Year's Day away. :D

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! My resolutions are to organise my time and tasks better – including being a more dependable writer!

_Thanks, as always, to Kitsuna!_

"He can't see the good stuff left, only the good stuff he lost." ~ Daxter**  
**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

**  
**

The Hole was as unlike The Naughty Ottsel as Spargus was unlike Haven.

Thick, scaled hides were stretched over the space between two buildings, providing shade from the sun and a theoretical shelter from rain, if it ever rained here.

The buildings it was squished between were long and wide, with one side facing the ocean and housing the active-service warriors and the opposite side a completely separate housing for non-warrior inhabitants.

The result of the bar's setup meant that in addition to shade, the sea breezes swept right through the establishment, bringing relief from the heat to a startling degree.

The space itself was only as wide as two bikes lying bumper to bumper, but it was quite a bit longer. One side of the rectangular space was taken up by battered wooden furniture, carved stone tables and sleeping Wastelanders. The other side was taken up by a long, narrow bar that ran half the length of the room and opened at both ends into the building behind it – presumably into storage.

One old, grizzled Wastelander was seated at the bar a few stools down, half-leaning on an equally grizzled but considerably younger female Wastelander. The two were speaking quietly but Jak – seated at the far edge of the bar, with the burning sunlight from outside just reaching in to warm his legs – tried not to hear them.

He mostly attempted this by focusing on his best friend, who was sampling the drinks on offer with the air of an unimpressed connoisseur. The bartender was nowhere to be seen and Daxter was helping himself to sips right from the bottles lined up against the wall.

"This is unbelievable." Daxter grumbled. "You'd think a bunch of hardened desert-warriors would have_ something _stronger than _fruit juice_."

Jak smiled. "Yeah. I doubt it's fruit juice." He said dryly. "I don't about you, but I haven't seen anything other than cacti and leapers." Daxter didn't reply, already trying something new, until-

"What was _that_?!" Daxter literally spat, a fine spray of yellow liquid misting into the air._ "EWWWW! _I think I _swallowed_ some of that! Gross! Stomach pump! Quick!! I can feel it eating my insides!"

Jak frowned in concern as Daxter staggered his way towards him only to collapse dramatically at his hands. After several seconds of drawn-out death-rattles, the ottsel stilled.

Jak poked him.

Daxter broke into instant, high-pitched giggles, curling away from Jak's hand and swatting at him with all four paws. Jak grinned a little, easily pinning the little body down with one hand and using his free thumb to tickle the ottsel.

"Jaaaaak!" Daxter screeched, pitch even higher than normal. "You jer-aha ha-jerk! S-s-stoooahahahaha!"

"Pipe down!" Snarled the grizzled woman, now almost fully supporting the old man who was dozing off.

Jak felt his mirth drop away, as he turned and _looked_ at the woman. He could almost feel his eyes darken, could _definitely_ feel the darkness within him swirling eagerly for a chance to get out at play.

It was easier, though, to ignore it and he took his hand off the helplessly giggling, twitching ottsel in the only gesture of compliance he was inclined to make.

The woman scowled at him, though the slight widening of her pupils and quickening of her pulse gave away her momentary fear easily enough. She did, however, accept the lack of ottsel-molestation as an apology and endeavored to ignore the otherwise threatening manner of the young stranger.

Jak turned back to the bar, good mood all but gone.

Daxter, making a production of smoothing down his fur, darted quick, worried looks at him before turning himself to glare at the woman.

She didn't notice, busy trying to move the old man out into the street.

"So, uh... The big guy and I had a chat on the way here." Daxter ventured after a moment. "Not a bad guy, really."

Jak grunted. It wasn't the good kind of grunt. Daxter winced.

"I take it you're a bit P.O'ed 'bout the whole 'background check' thing, huh?" He asked, smiling weakly.

Jak shot him a dark look and turned to look out towards the ocean. It was oddly beautiful, compared to the functional-but-ugly look of the desert city.

Daxter bit his lip, before moving slowly closer and laying his paws against Jak's forearm. Jak's ear twitched slightly, an unconscious but constant monitor of his surroundings.

"He wasn't tryin' to butt in." Daxter offered, atypically quietly. "Believe me, I'd have run him over with a hijacked transport ship if I thought he was just being nosy."

"I don't care what reason he had." Jak bit out suddenly. "He should have known better."

Daxter paused, watching the expression on Jak's profile carefully.

"You.. you're pissed because he found out, aren'tcha?" The ottsel realised. "He found out that you an' the kid are one-and-the-same and you're... holy yakkows, you're _scared_!"

Daxter caught a flash of angry blue eyes before the arm he was now leaning his whole body weight against abruptly shook him off. Daxter toppled backwards with a yelp, falling right off the bar and hitting the ground with a thump.

There was a scraping noise as Jak pushed himself up and off the barstool and stalked off into the sunlight, his shoulders hunched in a manner reminiscent of Dark Jak.

Daxter spat some dirt out of his mouth and scowled.

"Oh no ya don't!" He shouted, running after his best friend on all fours and leaping straight up to stand against Jak's back – front paws clenched around an ear each and yanking as his back paws dug claws into the holster beneath them.

Jak pitched back with a short sound of surprise. Although he regained his balance quickly enough, he couldn't shake Daxter without risking little ottsel claws tearing apart the more delicate outer edges of his ears.

Daxter growled and yanked again on the ears like reigns to a horse.

"Alright, buddy, that's it! I'm tired of you running off without me! Now we are gonna _find_ somewhere you can _freak out_ without scarin' the locals or so help me I will bite these ears right _off_!!" The little creature punctuated his words with sharp tugs, making even his battle-hardened friend wince more than once.

Passing Wastelanders were staring at them curiously and with more than a little amusement, but none of them paused in their lives to see what would happen next.

"Alright!" Jak finally snapped, swiping over his shoulder for the ottsel – who dodged. "Get off my back!"

Daxter did so, scampering quickly to his regular shoulder position and snickered. "Literally" He snarked, grinning back at Jak's irritated expression.

Jak rolled his eyes, but already his temper was fading.

"C'mon, tough guy." Daxter urged, leaning on his friend's head. "Let's get outta this dustbowl city. I saw a beach on the way in, there might be some chicks there!"

Jak didn't reply, already heading for the blast doors leading outside.

----------------

"My liege?"

Damas didn't stir from his position at the window. The King stared out over his city as the sun burnt orange and red into the late afternoon.

Behind him, Seem frowned. She had been in the room when Sig and the King had spoken, waiting in the shadows to give her own report. What she had heard was shocking.

The King's sweet, talented child.. had become that poor twisted young man. Although it was clear that the Precursors had smiled on him by allowing the white eco to heal and not destroy him.. it was equally clear that the boy was no King Damas and never would be.

Wrathful and tormented, stained by the Dark and loyal to none but himself... If Damas ever acknowledged the boy as his child and future ruler of Spargus... surely Jak would spell their doom. Assuming, of course, they all survived the coming Daystar.

It was perhaps fortuitous, then, that Damas seemed less than eager to embrace his lost son.

"What is it, Seem?" Damas replied belatedly.

"I have the samples of white eco with me." Seem reported calmly. "They are pure and strong. The vent is marked as a core vent, so supply does not appear to be an immediate problem."

"Your warriors?"

"Training has intensified, eco is portioned generously. Some ancient eco-powered weapons have been removed from storage and all monks are training in their use."

This was sufficient to gain Damas' direct attention. He turned and observed the Monk closely.

"Kor has been destroyed." He stated. "The Metal Head army is scattered and mindless. For the first time in twenty years they are pests awaiting extermination, not a force to fear. Yet you prepare for war. What do you know that I do not?"

Seem bowed her head.

"The Daystar. It was first sighted over a week ago and has only grown brighter. There are scriptures and carvings in every Precursor temple that warn of it. 'The Daystar heralds the Dark Makers.' We believe that what is coming will make Kor and his brood look like an advance guard. Perhaps they were."

Damas sighed, deep and despairing "Is there no end to this war?" He asked softly, eyes closing.

Seem remained silent. She had no reassurances to offer.

After a moment, the King opened his eyes and straightened.

"Alright. Dispatch a contingent of engineers and monks to the gun turrets. See if we can substitute or mix in white eco to the charge – it should do a hell of a lot more damage than the red we've been using. I want supply lines set up to distribute the white eco into the city and emergency storage as quickly as possible. Select two of your warriors and send them to me to see if any of mine can learn to use it as well."

Seem nodded. "As you command." She acknowledged "You should also be aware: With the opening of the vent in the tunnels, a new section of the temple has also opened. It seems to be a direct result, which means Mar intended it to do so."

She watched expressionlessly as the King started at the name of his son, even as he knew she was referring to the ancestor. He wasn't going to like what she said next.

"I believe Jak should accompany one of my monks there." She stated evenly.

Damas' eyes narrowed slightly. "Why?" The King demanded. "He was barely involved in the opening of the white vent. By accident, barely aware for grief's sake!"

Seem bowed her head.

"He is tainted with Dark and Blessed with white." She said quietly. "Such an occurrence is beyond a fluke. I believe Mar predicted it, somehow. I believe he is important. And also.." She darted a hesitant look at her King. "He has the blood needed for any seals within the temple. We cannot spare you, my liege, not your time nor your life. Jak is.. not so valuable."

For a moment Damas was absolutely still and Seem braced herself for either an enraged diatribe or a staff blast to the chest.

She got neither. Damas just stared at her, eyes dark and jaw tight. She didn't know if he was angry that she knew, angry at the reminder or angry because despite it all he recognised Jak as his son.

He didn't like it, but he recognised it.

She didn't get an answer, one way or the other. Damas just nodded, jaw tight.

"I want him to do a few runs with Sig first." The King said curtly. "Learn the ropes. Afterwards, I'll assign him to you." He turned sharply and stalked back to the window, the afternoon rage of colour starting to give way to the deep purples of evening.

Seem, knowing a dismissal when she saw one, bowed silently and left.

------------

"Well. It ain't Sandover."

Jak couldn't help but agree. The ocean was wonderfully familiar, but the golden-white sand of his youth was gone, replaced with a mass of jagged unfriendly boulders. He had found a curved one shielded from sea spray and was sitting on the warm rock, best friend at his side, as the sun set over the ocean.

He'd been tempted to dive in, let the salty, sun-warmed water cleanse him for the first time in over three years.

Then he'd seen a low-flying bird get picked out of the air by a large tentacle belonging to some kind of sea creature - and his desire had abruptly abated.

He'd also found a seat a couple of meters back from sea line.

And kept his gun close to hand.

Still, despite the increased danger, it was.... nice. Daxter was a warm weight against his side, the dying sun was giving way to a cool night breeze.. and the air was so fresh.

"So, talk to me buddy." Daxter's voice was quiet.

Jak didn't look down at him and he knew Dax wasn't looking up at him.

Jak lay his head back against the rock, drinking in the sound of the ocean and not a single other person or vehicle. Slowly, the sensation almost foreign, he relaxed.

"...Do you think he told him?" He asked at length. He didn't need to clarify. Dax knew exactly who he meant.

"..Yeah." Daxter answered softly.

They were quiet for a few minutes.

"What.." Jak started, then stopped.

"I think he's gonna be freaked." Daxter answered the stalled question.

"And, no offence buddy, but he kinda has a right to, ya know? His little mute kid gets kidnapped, an' there ain't nuthin' he can do about it. He's scared. And then Sig comes along and spins some tale about time travel and Damas has to swallow the idea that not only has his kid gone and grown up without him, but that his kid was hurt and there's nuthin' he can do about _that_ either."

"Hurt." Jak repeated, scorn evident in his voice. "Fucked up, you mean. Ruined. I'm not his.. I'm not Mar. Not anymore."

Dax was silent for a moment.

"..Maybe." The ottsel conceded "But I don't think that bastard Praxis can take the credit for all of it. The guy you are today – _Jak_ – he was made in Sandover."

Jak scoffed, almost soundlessly.  
The little body at his side twisted and propped itself up on his stomach.

"I'm serious." Daxter insisted. "Jak grew up in the sun and sea. He grew up playing with eco vents and camping out in the forest. He had a goofy, absent, kind uncle; a crotchety old Sage who used to spoil him – unfairly, I might add – and a best friend who stuck to him like freakin' glue!"

Startled, Jak looked down, meeting small, furiously intent eyes.

"He had a cute girl he was too chicken to ask out, unfairly developed biceps and even though he never said a word he was.. he was the best friend I ever had. When I got hurt, he went to the end of the world and risked his life to help me."

Jak swallowed.

"And Praxis?" He asked, voice hoarse.

Daxter just shrugged.

"Praxis hurt him. He gave Jak some really, really sharp edges. He even changed him a little. But he didn't make him. And he definitely didn't change Mar to Jak. Sandover did that."

Jak stared down at his best friend, his chest tight with a humble, desperately thankful emotion he didn't know how to express. Dax's expression softened and one paw came up to scratch his ear sheepishly.

"Thanks, Dax." Jak managed. "But.. I don't think Damas will see it that way."

Daxter's ears bent back. "Maybe not at first." He conceded reluctantly "But if he's half the guy Sig seems to think he is, then I'd bet the Naughty Ottsel that he'll catch on eventually. It might take him awhile, Jak... but it'll work out. I'm positive."

Jak huffed a small laugh, one hand coming up to flatten the ottsel's ears to his skull and rub.

"Thanks, Dax." He said again, speaking over Daxter's muffled protests. Daxter eventually shoved his hand off and smoothed his fur back.

"Yeah, well.." Daxter started, turning back around and slumping against his side – but not before Jak caught the pleased look on his face. "I do what I do. I'm thinkin' of startin' a talk show."

Jak smiled and looked out over the sea. The sun was setting now, a cloud of orange and red touched by streaks of purple and blue as the cloudless night settled in.

"Hey, Jak?"

"Yeah, Dax?"

"You know that thing I said about Keira? You know I was just saying' that, right? 'Cause she was totally hot for me."

A smile.

"Yeah, Dax."

* * *

**End Chapter**

So apparently there's a big debate raging about white and light Eco.  
Allow me to state for the record:

In this version of the JnD universe, white and light are the same thing. The colour differences between them and how Jak interacted with them are – in my opinion – a result of both how it was created and administered to him (Sage team effort plus a dunking versus Precursor precision applications over time) and how he himself was configured to work with Eco at the time.

In his youth, I believe Jak's use of eco was more 'natural'. He shot the white eco from his hands the same way he shot yellow. But after getting his body messed around with by Praxis, his eco affinity changed as well.

So I believe, anyway. :)

Daxter's quote was a warning of things to come. Now, if you'll excuse me it's New Year's Eve and I'm off to gorge on yummy food and NON STOP GAMING WOOOO!

Have a great one!


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you as always for your reviews! I love getting them, they often make me scramble to fix.. I mean, ruminate on potential plot holes... :)

Oh and compliments to **missingthepoint** who not only went back and read the first story but also reviewed it so thoroughly it has _changed the future_ of _**this **_story!!!

"So _you_ wanna be Wastelanders, huh doughboys?" ~Sig

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

**Chapter 3  
**

"_**There**_ you are!"

Jak stiffened automatically as he recognised the voice hailing them.

Daxter, perched as always upon his shoulder, glanced down at his friend then over to Sig who was approaching with a slightly wary expression.

It was obvious the tank-like Wastelander was wondering if he was due a punch or two.

Jak, his body turned away as he closed the blast doors, swallowed tightly. Daxter felt the muscles of his shoulders shift underneath his paws as the blond warrior shored himself up and turned to face their mutual friend.

"Sig." Jak greeted neutrally. The older man stopped a few feet away. He paused, then drew breath to speak.

"I get why you did it." Jak interrupted shortly. "I..we're still good. Ok?"

Sig's eye crinkled in visible relief.

"But if it's all the same to you" Jak continued ruthlessly "I _don't_ wanna talk about it."

Sig frowned slightly, but nodded slowly.

And _that_, Jak realised with a sinking feeling, was all the confirmation he needed that Damas had _not_ taken the news well.

Shrugging aside his automatic Dark reaction with an effort of will, he tried to focus on the positive. Sig had been a reliable comrade and a good – even trusted – friend before all this. The more he remembered that, the smoother things would go.

"If you're thinkin' of sticking around, we got us a mission." Sig changed the subject. "Not now, though. The temperature drops like a corpse at night. I can get you cherries set up at the barracks and we can head out in the mornin'. Or" he added reluctantly "I can grab a transport ship right now and you can head back to Haven. Da- The King made it clear. You're welcome to stay, but you don't have to. You're free to come and go as you like – but if you _do_ stay, you're considered a citizen and that means takin' on jobs for the good of Spargus."

Jak exchanged a silent look with Daxter.

"We're stayin'." Dax answered for the both of them.

"For now." Jak added, so smoothly that it was as if only one person had spoken.

"Awwright." Sig replied, unable to quite stop himself from smiling.

"Welcome to Spargus, last city of all the honest bastards."

* * *

The barracks weren't bad. All warriors got one small room to themselves, with communal bathing and eating areas. All walls and floors and ceilings were stone, of course, so the sound from other rooms and outside was extremely muffled.

Jak and Daxter's room was in the corner, two floors above the bar with a window opening into it and another one in the wall facing the ocean. Both windows had thick, rough curtains to block the harsh light of day, as well as wooden shutters.

A sturdy, ugly, but comfortable bed was pushed up against the only wall without a door or window in it and an equally sturdy-but-ugly set of drawers was placed under both windows, acting as storage space _and_ tables. The drawers under the bar window had a ceramic bowl and jug set upon it already. At the foot of the bed was a battered metal locker that could be secured against casual snoopers to store more personal effects.

"Nothin' a good blast wouldn't take out." Sig had said, gesturing at the lock "But Wastelanders tend to be an honest lot. Locks are more of a way to _say_ 'keep out' than actually keep anyone out. It'll get respected, though. Nobody wants to be banished over something like _that_."

The room was tiny, reminiscent of his cell in Praxis' house of fun, but at the same time it was infinitely better than anything he'd had since Sandover.

The bed was soft and he could tell the blankets were designed to trap body heat in defence against the desert's nightly chill. The window to the ocean gave a familiar view and let in the constant scent of freshness and freedom. Even the window over the bar was good. The netting and cloths shielding the bar from the sun also muffled the noise slightly, so all that traveled to those living above was a soft murmur of barely distinguishable voices, voices that reaffirmed that people were alive and happy, that someone was awake and on guard. Compared to the total silence of his isolation cell, it was comforting.

He hadn't slept so well in years.

And now it was morning.

He, Dax and Sig were speeding across the wasteland in a wide vehicle that looked designed to carry about six to eight men. There was a rail gun installed to the roll bars on top, that looked well-oiled and better maintained than the vehicle itself.

Dawn had broken just as they were leaving the city and dawn over the desert was almost as pretty as sunset.. except that dawn brought with it a rapidly intensifying heat and some genius had decided that what the car _really didn't need_, was a roof.

Daxter finally had enough of the rising heat and tugged Jak's scarf free, folding the thin material over and holding it above his head. Sig chuckled at the grumbling animal, gunning the engine to bounce clear of some large cacti and rocks.

"There's a tarp in the back!" He shouted. "When we're settling in for the day, we set it up over the bars."

"Why not now!" Daxter yelled back, mouth protected from the rush of dry air. Sig caught the question and shook his head firmly.

"Too dangerous!" He called back. "Marauders infest the place, we can't cut our ability to see them until we're stationary and can scout the area. Don't worry, chillipepper. You'll get used it."

Daxter's less-than-enthused response was lost to the wind.

After about twenty minutes, Sig finally let up on the accelerator and the car rumbled to a halt at the top of a sand dune. Below them was a medium-sized valley, surrounded on all sides by rocky sand dunes – which meant they rarely shifted and provided near constant protection for the valley within. Parts of the valley were even still in deep shadow.

The remains of old buildings – mostly stone and foundations now – proved that it had once been a place where life could survive.

"What is this place?" Jak asked, honestly curious. Sig grunted.

"Old Wastelander settlement. Before Spargus. It was a good place, I hear, but as you can see it didn't stand up well against Marauders. The bastards never stopped attacking it and we had to retreat to the more defensible fortress of Spargus."

"Fortress?" Daxter echoed.

"Yep." Sig answered. "Spargus used to be an emergency fall-back position. It was only after this settlement failed and attacks from both Marauders and Metal Heads increased that the shield wall was built and the fortress extended enough to be called a small city. 'Course, that was when I was only a little boy. Nowadays, this place is kinda like a farm for Spargus."

Jak and Daxter looked again at the ruins, noting that the spread of yellow-green was a veritable carpet of tiny cacti.

"Hang on." Sig warned at the same time as he gunned the engine to give them a flying leap off the sand dune.

Daxter screamed as the car went airborne and Jak tightened his grip on both him and the roll bar. Soon enough, with a massive kickback of sand, the car hit the ground and slid down to a stop by a crumbling stone wall.

"Where'd you learn to drive?" Daxter grumbled as he tried to disentangle himself from the scarf.

Sig didn't answer, instead getting out of the car and walking a few steps forward.

Three men melted out of the ruins to surround him with guns. Before Jak could even finish tensing, however, the guns were lowered and the four men began talking in low voices.

Jak's ear twitched. He turned to look down at Daxter, which allowed his ear to naturally face the men talking quietly a few meters in front of them.

Allowing a spark of Dark to surge through him, he shamelessly eavesdropped.

Daxter, knowing without words exactly what his friend was doing, made a show of going through the bag Sig had left behind, to provide something for Jak to continue observing.

Nothing interesting or suspicious was said. Sig and he were relieving the men for two days. The men were updating Sig on Marauder sightings and water supplies. With the direct way Wastelanders had of speaking, the whole conversation was over quickly.

The three men vanished back into the ruins to leave in their own vehicle as Sig returned to theirs.

Reaching in, he snatched his bag from Daxter – shooting him a dark look – and stepped back.

"Awright, Marauder presence is low, so I'm thinkin' now is as good a time as any for you to get some driving practice in." Sig said easily, waving off Daxter's irate protests. "I know, I know, you boys are hotshot drivers in the city, but terrain vehicles aren't the same as hovercars. You need to get a handle on how _these_ handle, the sooner the better. The shifting sand, hidden rocks, dips and rises – all of them can make you crash out in a second if you ain't paying attention. That's not even mentioning driving whilst under marauder attack – so before it gets to that point, I want both you sweethearts well and truly wet on terrain driving."

"Got it." Jak said calmly, as Daxter scuttled up to his shoulder and pouted.

Sig nodded and looked down for a moment as he searched through his bag for something.  
Jak shrugged his shoulder slightly to get Dax's attention, then tilted his head towards the gun on top of the vehicle.

A wide, eager grin spread over the ottsel's face.

Both were looking back at Sig, perfectly serene, by the time the Wastelander fished out an object and handed it to them.

"This is a communicator. It's standard Wastelander stock which means it's pretty much useless for anyone further away than Spargus – and just as useless in a sandstorm. Your beacon is attached to it though, so if you boys _do_ get in over your heads, you can hit that baby to call out a pick up – be warned, though. There tends to be price attached, so only use it when you _really _need it."

The older man stepped back again.

"Awright, I'll call you when it's time to come in. Make sure you park that thing out of sight when you get back, and cover it with the grey tarp. Oh, and _do not drive_ on these here cacti – that's askin' to go three rounds in the arena!"

"We got it, we got it!" Daxter waved dismissively. "We'll be home soon, _mommy_."

Sig glared at the ottsel and turned to go.

Jak shared a small smile with his best friend and slammed the car into reverse as the giggling ottsel leapt up to handle the gun.

"_**And no shootin'!**_" Sig hollered after them.

* * *

It was almost dusk before Sig ended up calling them back in.

Jak and Daxter had had a blast. Churning up the desert floor, mowing down cacti which exploded wetly as they hit it, bouncing off rocks with surprisingly strong suspension and even daring death-defying leaps off ancient slabs of metal sticking out of the desert floor.

The moment when they'd flown right over a gorge, with nothing but a sharp drop to the death underneath them had been nothing short of_ perfection._

They'd even come across a couple of Marauders unexpectedly, who were no-doubt of the opinion that the people driving like wild teenagers _were_ in fact wild teenagers and thus easy marks.

Well, they were half right.

Jak's instincts, preternaturally sharp, enabled him to avoid the intended ramming by one Marauder vehicle – huge and studded with spikes. Skill and an entire day's worth of practice had him skating around the slightly slower vehicle with ease, denying the attackers the chance to get a weapon's lock and enabling Daxter to let loose with the rail gun.

The first attacking car went up in an explosion of flame and fuel, a couple of men throwing themselves from it just in time to get thrown by the blast.

One man was run over by the second Marauding vehicle, as it plowed through the sand and came at them, eco guns firing.

Jak had led them up to a cliff edge and, with reflexes far beyond their attackers', had hit the breaks _just_ as the Marauders had tried to side-swipe them off the cliff.

The Marauders screamed as they drove right off the edge and plummeted to their deaths.

As they'd headed back to the ruins, Jak had realised that he hadn't enjoyed their deaths.. not like he usually did. His Dark was more muted in so many ways. That said, however, he hadn't felt bad about it at _all_. They'd attacked him with intent to kill and he had just enough Dark left that killing them first was a satisfying response.

Sig was waiting for them when they arrived and he eyed the evidence of a battle with exasperation.

"You boys don't bother walkin' before you run, do you?" He muttered. "They dead?"

"Dead as Praxis' singing career!" Daxter quipped, popping open the car's storage unit and trying to haul out the tarp as Jak carefully parked where two walls met and provided protection from both the wind and from view. Once the engine was off, all three of them worked together to secure the vehicle and disguise it.

"So, what're we doin' here anyway?" Daxter asked, stretching before he hopped up onto Jak's shoulder. All those adrenaline rushes really tired a guy out. "You said this was a farm? 'Cause I _don't_ do manure."

"Manure, eh?" Sig mused. "That's not such a bad idea, chillipepper. But naw, our job is just to shoot anything that gets too close."

He started walking into the ruins, picking his way carefully through the cacti when no path was present. Jak followed him, automatically emulating the other man's care.

"One of the reasons the original Wastelanders tried to settle here was due to the water table being pretty high. The rocks that shield this place from the wind also go underground and act like a kind of dam. So, when Spargus started to grow beyond it's ability to support itself, Damas had this whole area seeded with a special kind of cacti normally found only in the temples."

"What's so special about 'em?" Daxter asked, eying the unimpressive wads of green and yellow with a distinct lack of awe.

"Well, normal cacti can be a source of moisture in the desert – every fool know that." Sig explained patiently. "But these babies can and do store a lot more than water inside themselves. They also retain and produce quite a few minerals and whatnot. Some they take from the ground, others they somehow manufacture simply by exposure to water and sun. I don't know how it works exactly, but I _do_ know that a man can survive on nothing but these babies and live a perfectly healthy – if taste deficient – life. In the Wasteland, these things are more valuable than all the gold on the planet."

"So why not grow them in Spargus?" Jak asked. "Keep them behind the shield wall and then you can't be cut off from supplies – especially in case of a siege."

Sig turned and clapped the younger man on the back.

"That's good thinkin', Cherry. Unfortunately, these suckers can't stand salt water. Even salt-laden air can screw em up. That, plus the amount of water they'd take from us makes it an imposibility. The good news is that they store well. We can harvest them and whatever we cut off can last up to a year in dark storage. The bad news is, they are _the_ slowest growing precursor-damned plants in the world. It's been seven years already, just for this stuff to grow. It'll be five to seven more before it's ready to be harvested."

"If it takes that long to grow, why does it need to be protected _now_?"

"Because they can be eaten now." Sig answered. "But if they're harvested _now_, they don't recover. The roots can't grow another whatchamacallit to get the sunlight and without the sun the plant dies. But, if we wait till they're full-grown, the main stem starts growing extra limbs. Those can be cut off without harming the plant and generally re-grow within a year. Once this plantation is established, it'd be possible to farm it indefinitely."

"And Marauders aren't known for long-term planning." Jak concluded grimly. Sig nodded darkly.

"Damn straight." He agreed. "Those morons were the ones who burnt this place to the ground – after stealing whatever they could and taking parts to reinforce their own camps. They didn't even think about what this place _could _be. Which" he sighed "I suppose was good for us. If they'd had half a brain between them and realised how useful a properly-fortified camp here could be.."

He stopped and ducked under an archway. In the rapidly-disappearing light, Jak could see two sleeping bags laid out over slabs of stone, as well as a small portable eco-powered heater.

"Why _not_ fortify it?" Jak suggested, ducking in after him and taking the only free sleeping bag. Daxter jumped off his shoulder and went rummaging in the food bag.

"Especially with this place being so useful. It can't be enough to just put a few men on patrol and hope for the best." He argued. "Sooner or later, Marauders will come en mass, and this whole thing will be for nothing."

Sig sighed.

"We know, Cherry. The King is stressin' out over it every day. The thing is, we don't have the men to spare to put in a permanent force here. Any attempt to build a wall will bring the Marauders running to smash it down. They won't like any sign of Spargus expanding. And to be honest, right now our best defence is that they simply don't care enough to attack. They know the cacti is here and they know we have some people here most of the time to harvest it – but they don't know those people are guarding it too. And they have _no_ idea how damned valuable this cacti is, or what differentiates it from the normal stuff."

"To take further precautions will just make them assume it's something good." Jak realised.

Sig nodded. "And" he added "Even if we did fortify the place, this is a wide area! We'd need a good threescore men just to defend it, not including relief shifts."

"What about automated gun turrets?" Daxter suggested, walking over to them and tossing dried leaper meat to them both. "There's plenty of those babies just lying around Haven. Jak and I could nab some for ya, easy!"

Sig nodded. "Yeah, they're an option. But.. well, you guys have dealt with them before. You tell _me_ what the problem is with 'em."

"They're slow." Jak answered instantly. "Easy to out-fly and even on foot they can be dodged if your timing is good enough."

"Yep." Sig grunted. "And they need maintenance _and_ red eco to operate. Rail guns and other non-eco weapons aren't an option either – the sand gums them up real fast around here. The cars that have them equipped get detailed every time they're returned to Spargus and it's not uncommon for them to jam in the middle of a fight. Plus, they can't be installed to run automatically without eco, which means we'd need manpower to point and shoot."

The three of them chewed their meals silently for awhile, glad for the warmth of the portable heater as the desert night closed with a snap of cold.

"Red eco is pretty easy to get a hold of." Jak mused. "That's one of the reasons there are so many gun turrets all over the city. Blue is scarce because the shield wall eats most of it and all the cities need some to run minor systems. If we could find a way to ensure red eco delivery.. it's not impossible to keep this place protected. The turrets are slow, sure, but get enough of them and they're not as easy to avoid." He looked over at Daxter. "Besides.." he continued slowly. "We know some people who might be able to improve them.

Daxter grinned. "Yeah!" He exclaimed. "My baby is a regular gunsmith! If anyone can turn those hunks of junk into a lean mean killin' machine, she can!"

When they looked back to Sig, the man was looking at them with an odd expression of pride and sorrow. As their eyes settled on him, though, he was quick to wipe it away.

"You really think you can get something that'd do the trick?" He asked cautiously.

Daxter nodded. Jak considered it for a moment, sharp eyes flicking around as he mentally reviewed the size of the area, before he too nodded.

"Well, damn." Sig remarked, rubbing his face. "If you can, that'd be one of the best things you could _do_ for Spargus. Better keep it between us for now, though. 'Least till we know the particulars."

Jak nodded. Daxter yawned and went to beat up their shared sleeping bag with a stick – just in case anything had crawled inside.

"Actually.." Sig said slowly. "Now that I think about it, I'm pretty sure there's a vent around here somewhere. It might even be a red vent. There wasn't much use for it back in the day this place was built, so it was barely mentioned.

"If that's the case, then this could be perfect." Jak replied. "An infinite source of eco for the defence system _within_ the system itself."

Sig grinned a little.

"Now, don't go getting' my hopes up, Cherry. When the team gets back here day after tomorrow, you an' Chillipepper can hit the big smoke and see what you can do. I'll take a look at what kind of resources we can access on this end and how long it might take us to install everything. The perimeter should be at least as far back as the dunes, keep any long-distance weapons away from the cacti."

Jak nodded and slid into his sleeping bag – Sig was taking first watch. Daxter squirmed out from underneath him and settled on his chest.

"Comm us if you're short of somethin'." The ottsel instructed the Wastelander sleepily. "It shouldn't be too hard to rip something off from either the port or the Krimzon Guard factory."

"Will do." Sig nodded curtly and left the alcove to scout around.

Lying back under a blanket of stars, Jak and Daxter slept.

* * *

End!

So why, you ask, wasn't Jak thrown into the Arena?

Why it's because Sig was a naughty chap who bent the law and brought Jak in himself! If he hadn't brought such nest-stirring news with him, he'd have already been punished for it, too.

But don't think our lovable Sig has escaped punishment altogether..


	4. Chapter 4

For some reason, very few people reviewed the last chapter. It made me very sad – I guess most of you didn't like it? Was it not interesting enough? Would you rather read action or juicy angsty moments instead?

For those only wanting to read Damas/Jak moments, there are NONE of them in this chapter!

Sorry to disappoint you. :(

To those who did review, MASSIVE HUGS – thank you for taking the time to brighten my day!

This chapter is a bit bigger than normal, so I hope it makes up for the last one.

Oh! And despite Google trying to correct my spelling, the US Jak 2 website claims Ashelin's name is Ashelin.. so as Naughty Dog's site is currently down, I'll go with Ashelin.

I'll try and go back and change the old names as soon as I can.

Oh, and **Kitsuna** - No Sig this chapter, sorry! Except his ass walkin' away from Jak

**EDIT: **Official US website for Jak 2 says Ashlin. Official US website for Jak 3 says Ashelin.  
I thus reserve the right to use whichever I want 0 but I prefer Ashelin. :)

Some lines from Jak 3 are respectfully borrowed in this chapter. I couldn't help myself. They were too good. :)

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

**Chapter 4**

Two days later they were back in Spargus. Sig had pointed them towards the building that handled sneaking shuttles in and out of Haven before disappearing off to 'sharpen his skills'.

Whatever _that_ meant.

The shuttle office (if it could be called that.. there was nothing official-looking at all) wasn't open yet so they took a stroll along the edge of the ocean.

Though neither spoke, they both couldn't get enough of the fresh ocean air.. so revitalising, compared to Haven. So familiar.. and better yet, so cooling against the desert heat.

At length they passed a spike of stone, seemingly natural, upon which a large semi-automatic gun had been installed. It looked large enough to mean seriously nasty business for anything attacking the city by sea, but it was odd to see only one defending the coastline.

Just beyond the gun, a blackened twisted shape stuck out of the sand. Jak's stride stuttered slightly, as the.. device.. caused his Dark to gutter and prickle uncomfortably.

Daxter seemed to be more interested in the oddly dressed men and women surrounding the device, smothering some laughter against Jak's hair.

"You find something about this amusing?" One monk asked coldly, not looking away from the device she was studying.

"No, no!" Daxter denied gleefully, hopping down from Jak's shoulder. "I just didn't know _rubber_ was back in. Is this gang exclusive or can anybody join?"

The monk turned to regard them both with a chilly lack of expression.

Jak coughed and nudged Daxter slightly with his foot.

"Hey, Seem." He greeted. Dax twisted to look up at his friend.

"You _know_ this colouring book?!" He asked incredulously. "Did you ask him for makeup tips or what?"

Jak shook his head just slightly. Daxter rolled his eyes and shut up. For now.

"She was one of the monks on hand when I.. kinda fell into some White stuff."

"Fell." Daxter repeated flatly. "Right."

He turned to regard the watching monk with suspicious, grudging acceptance.

"Well, I guess I owe ya one for helping out my boy here. All that doom n gloom was takin' _years_ off him."

"No thanks are required." The monk – Seem – replied immediately. "I was merely a bystander. And you should not be fooled by his apparent health – Dark Eco does not so easily release it's grip."

"Thanks." Jak said flatly, folding his arms and narrowing his eyes.

And to think he'd thought this Seem monk wasn't so bad..

"I do not mean offence, Jak." Seem said quietly. "I seek merely to caution you both. If you begin to believe that you no longer harbor the Dark then you shall fail to recognise its influence in your life. Then, it will easily consume you."

Jak scowled.

"You were the one who was 'glad to see my Darkness conquered'." He reminded her darkly.

"Conquered, yes." Seem agreed. "But only temporarily. You live upon a knife's edge, Jak – surely you must realise this. Your Darkness has been beaten back from it's absolute control.. but your Light only balances it. It does not dominate. For all our sakes', you must be ever vigilant."

"Whatever." Jak muttered, completely unwilling to entertain the idea that how he'd been feeling lately – so much more free... so much less twisted – was just a sham.

"So, whatcha working' on?" Daxter interjected, turning the conversation away. When you get into the habit of diverting your best friend's murderous rages, the habit doesn't fade quickly.

Seem seemed more than willing to change the subject, although her tone of voice chilled a little as she replied.

"It is none of your concern, animal. We monks shall deal with it."

"Yeah, see, that's stupid." Daxter argued. "It looks unfriendly. We know all _about_ unfriendly. In fact, I bet _we_ know more than _you_ do."

This time the look the monk threw the animal was decidedly irritated.

"You may bear the colour of our makers, animal, but you are no Precursor. This is an abomination of precursor technology." She paused to glance at a stone-faced heir of Mar. "Precursors who dabbled in and fell to Dark Eco." She continued.

Jak rolled his eyes.

"I get it." He snapped. "Let's move on already. What's it doing here?"

Seem frowned slightly.

"They have been falling from the sky for the past month. Heralds of The Remaking. One fell on the Great Volcano, but the monks I sent to investigate it have yet to report. They are dangerous, deadly devices that could easily slaughter the unwary – or the untrained. The Wastelanders are wise enough to leave them to us. You should follow their example."

Both boys felt this statement to be more than a little arrogant.. not to mention patronising.

Before Daxter could explode into a rant of all the dangers they'd faced – and _owned_ – Seem spoke again.

"The Daystar is coming and you know nothing of it! The end of all approaches, ill tidings sing in the wind and even you, tied to the Dark as you are – are ignorant of it."

Pale hands flickered again in smooth gestures. Prayer? Warding? Insult?

"You couldn't possibly understand the Dark Forces involved."

Jak grit his teeth. Coming from someone who seemed to bounce between congratulating him on not being completely rabid and condemning him for being even a _little_ rabid..

"Don't talk to _me_ about Dark Forces!" He ground out, stepping forward and glaring viciously at the startled monk. As he spoke, the Dark within him surged and phantom pains warned him of oncoming claws.

Startlement on the faces of the monks began to melt into fear as he approached and dimly, a part of Jak wondered if his newfound Light didn't keep his Dark as in check as he'd thought.

"I've seen men melted _alive_ by what I've survived." He growled, clenching his fist to keep himself from striking out. "_This_ isn't any.."

As he spoke, he gestured towards the machine sharply. Dark lashed out from his fingertips, almost gleefully leaping into the machine. Surprised and slightly pained, Jak snatched his hand back and gripped it with his other one. Strangely, the phantom pain that spoke of claws and fangs and horns was just.. gone. Like it, too, had leapt into the machine.

"Now do you see?" The monk's sandy voice asked from behind him. His surprised expression settled into a glare as he glanced over his shoulder at her. Seem wasn't glaring at _him_, though. She looked.. worried.

"Even being _near_ an object such as this upsets your control." She said strongly. "Since the moment you drew near, the Light I have sensed in you before was all but snuffed out."

Jak turned back to the machine. Part of it had opened like a spiked flower, displaying a screen. Another monk approached it cautiously, his hand raised to investigate.

He would have died had Jak's superior reflexes not caught the flicker of Dark sparking through the machine and reached out to shove him violently away.

As it was, the surge of Dark caught his own arm a glancing blow, burning his sleeve but barely stinging his arm.

He heard Seem gasp behind him.

"Stand back." He advised, perhaps a _little_ smugly. Maybe he, too, was an abomination.. but right now, that felt pretty good.

It took only a touch from his skin to make the screen fold and open again, this time displaying an odd chunk of crystal. Ignoring cautions from the monks behind him, he grabbed it. When he turned around to share a victorious look with Daxter, another monk stepped forward holding an open bag.

"No way, you buncha freaky mimes!" Daxter snapped, jumping up onto Jak's shoulder once more, ready to leap on any of them who might push the point. "We got it outta the machine 'o doom, we're keeping it!"

"Wastelander law, right?" Jak reminded them, one hand shoving it carelessly into his hip bag, the other ready to ward off attacks.

Now Seem was _really_ glaring at him.

"You are correct." She gritted out. "So be _careful_ with it. The explosive properties of eco crystals are untold." Her expression somehow darkened further. "And as long as you hold it, your balance will be skewed to the Dark. Remember that."

"Yeah yeah." Daxter waved her off, flexing his own fingers in a parody of the monk's non-verbal language. "Crystals go boom, we gotcha."

Seem chose not to respond. Jak rolled his eyes as she turned away from him and back to the machine.

"Finally!" Daxter crowed as the two of them turned back towards the shuttle office. "Hot showers and a back rub... _man_ I miss Haven!"

* * *

"Sweetcheeks!! Your manly man of action is _back!_"

It isn't easy for an ottsel to kick open a door, but when he has a best friend in tow, it _can_ be done.

Jak leant in the doorway and hid a grin as Daxter strutted into in the bar, glorying in Tess' delighted squeal.

It was the middle of the day and the bar was technically closed. As Dax and Tess weren't exactly rolling in credit at the moment though, the door was only locked when they were sleeping. If someone wandered in and wanted a drink, they couldn't afford to say 'no'.

"Ohh, my furry little hero! You've got such a manly desert tan!" Tess cooed, cuddling the ottsel to her ample breasts. Daxter, as always, had no complaint.

"I didn't know fur could tan." A girl's voice remarked from the side.

Jak looked over in surprised recognition. Sure enough, Keira was grimacing at the sweeter-than-sugar pair from within a booth, a newspaper open in front of her along with a bottle of cider and a thick green marker. As Dax and Tess didn't seem to have heard her, Jak walked over.

Keira looked up at him, her expression brightening.

"Jak!" She exclaimed, climbing out of the booth straight away. "It's so good to see you again!"

Jak braced himself as the slender mechanic threw herself at him. As deceptively strong arms closed around him in a hug, he sighed and hugged her back.

When she'd tried this before, his Dark had him tensing, every second of contact with her making him angrier, unable to forget every moment she'd spent admiring Errol, shying away from him or accusing him of being less than he was. She'd noticed, too, leaping away from him with an eerie instinct for danger.

Now, as with many things lately, it was... different.

When she hugged him, his muscles relaxed. Her hair was soft and didn't irritate his skin. His mind recalled years of friendship, playing at the beach together and waiting impatiently for her to finish her latest exciting mechanical toy.

He didn't feel angry anymore. They had a connection, him and her. A shared youth. A friendship borne of being some of the only similarly-aged children in their village.

He knew, if she started spouting off about Errol again, he'd still get angry. But it didn't rule him anymore. He didn't have to let that anger define him.

After a long hug, she drew back. Relief and happiness was clear in her eyes.

"You seem to be doing better." She murmured. "I'm.. really glad Jak."

"Yeah." Jak replied, reluctant to explain why. "Me too."

He stepped back and Keira shifted her weight, both of them not sure where to go from there.

"So.." Jak started, trying to prevent a nice moment from turning awkward. "Uh.. what.. are you doing here?"

"Oh." Keira started, a rueful expression on her face. "I'm, well. Job-hunting." She gestured behind her, to where the newspaper was open to the classifieds.

"You got fired?" Jak asked in surprise. Keira was a genius with machinery. Anyone who fired _her_ had to be criminally stupid. To his relief, she shook her head.

"Oh, no no! It's just the off-season for racing." The turquoise-haired woman explained. "Only Kras city races all year round. Every year, I have to find something to pick up the slack. The Guard doesn't hire mechanics on a casual basis, so I mostly wait tables."

"But rent in the stadium district is expensive, even for staff." Tess continued as she walked over, Daxter resting easily in her arms. "So when she dropped by to see if we were hiring, I offered her free room and board in exchange for shifts. It costs Dax and I less than hiring someone and saves Keira the stress and costs of rent."

"I even got my deposit back!" Keira nodded enthusiastically. "And with my connections, I could afford to get enough parts to make my own zoomer! So, I'm thinking I might move in permanently and drive to the stadium during racing season."

Jak blinked and glanced at Dax. Tess seemed to have already updated him on the situation because the blissed-out ottsel looked fine with the idea.

"Well.. congratulations." Jak said finally. That seemed like a generally acceptable response. Besides, it meant their old gang would have closer ties in the future.

"Thanks!" Keira chirped. She sat back in the booth and Tess joined her on the opposite side. Jak slid in next to Keira and glanced down at the paper.

"So then, why look for more work?" He asked curiously.

"Well, business isn't exactly booming here." Keira said with an apologetic glance to Tess. "So I've got enough time to pick something up on the side – to help bring in a little cash for life's little necessities."

"And by necessities, she means car parts." Tess sniggered. Keira glared playfully at her.  
"Like you can talk, Miss-OMG-I-can-totally-attach-a-rocket-launcher-to-this-gun!"

Tess grinned sheepishly. "We're quite a pair." She agreed.

Daxter perked up.

"Well, honeybuns, that's one of the reasons we're here." He started. "Besides visiting my shnookie-poo of course."

Jak rolled his eyes.

"You know the KG gun turrets?" He interrupted, before the sugar levels got any higher.

"Yeah?" Tess replied curiously, combing her fingernails through Daxter's fur.

"There's a place we need to protect, with minimum manpower." Jak explained. "The turrets are ideal, except they're too slow. Is there anything you can do?"

Tess chewed her thumbnail.

"Mayyyybe." She hedged. "I'd have to get my hands on one to know for sure."

"Not a problem!" Daxter professed. "We can have one in your workroom by tonight, baby."

Keira glanced from the two boys used to giving the law the middle finger, and her new friend who didn't seem anything but mildly excited at the news that she'd soon have a stolen gun turret to play with.

"Uh, you're going to ask Ashelin for one, right?" She asked hesitantly. "I mean, if you get caught just taking one.. well, the Krimzon Guard doesn't exist anymore. You can't just kill anyone who gets in the way."

She was not reassured by the speculating look that passed between the two.

"You know, I never even _thought_ of askin' the 'ole gal." Daxter mused. "You think she'd let us have one?"

"Maybe." Jak replied thoughtfully. "But not without wanting to know why and where it was going."

Daxter grimaced. "Yeah, and wantin' us to sign for it for inventory or something.. " He grumbled.

Keira's eyes were wide.

"That's.. a good thing." She said weakly. "It's, y'know. Legal. And, um, she's the governor so she needs to be able to keep track of resources. You.. _will_ ask her, right?"

Jak and Dax exchanged another, less enthused look.

"Nahh." They chorused.

Tess giggled as they smirked at each other.

Keira cringed and rubbed her face. She just _knew_ she was going to regret moving in here.

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Finding a turret was a piece of cake.

A lot of the city was still broken up after the Metal heads had stormed in and the KG – with or without Ashelin's splash of blue paint – was too limited in numbers to patrol the entire city. So, those parts which had fared particularly badly were left to scavengers and those too hard up to move.

Locals, mostly kids from the size of them, scuttled away as Jak brought his stolen zoomer to a stop and left it, keys still in the ignition.

They walked towards the KG cap Daxter had spotted from the air. Unlike most ruined turrets, this one had never left the ground. A chance explosion or impact had twisted the protective lid and prevented the turret from deploying. Hopefully, that should mean it was still in working condition.

Wiping at the grime on the ground, they found the small access hatch quickly. One careful shot blew the lock away and Daxter pulled the hatch quickly open as Jak aimed his morph gun into the opening, looking for the tell-tale gleam of Metal Heads.

Lifting his gun away was all the clearance Daxter needed and the Ottsel flipped himself nimbly into the opening followed a heartbeat later by Jak.

The air stank of oil and sewerage. Daxter leapt up to Jak's shoulder and reached up to manipulate the computer attached to the turret underneath as Jak warily scanned the underground access corridor that criss-crossed this section of the city. If there was anything down there, however, it chose not to disturb them. In a matter of minutes, Daxter had the turret's system offline and the main control crystal removed.

Once above ground, Daxter took the gun and kept watch as Jak used a cutter – borrowed from Tess – to break the warped metal holding the hatch closed then pushed both halves apart with his greater-than-normal strength.

A press of a button and the hiss of hydraulics later, the turret rose proudly into view.

"...We shoulda thought this through better." Daxter concluded, looking at the mass of metal before them. It looked bigger up close and certainly looked heavier.

Not even a cruiser would be able to carry _this_ load.

He looked up at his friend in time to see a narrowed, contemplative look enter his eyes.

"I got an idea." Jak muttered. That was the only warning his friend got, before Dark Eco surged violently and Jak _changed_ with a guttural cry of pain.

Daxter blinked.

"Y'know, buddy, I've been meaning to talk to you about the whole 'Dark Jak solves all problems' thing..." He started, only to be cut off by a heavy exhalation that could _almost_ be called a laugh.

An _evil_ laugh.

Coming from an evil corpse, maybe.

"I'm. Stronger." Dark Jak – freakin' _Dark Jak_! - spoke painfully and shortly, biting out each word as though he had to focus past the distraction of having claws and wanting to use them.  
"Much. Much. Stronger."

"Okay." Daxter said faintly. "Good plan, I guess. Should I, ah, cut it loose?"

Claws lengthened and flashed through the air, leaving a faint purple trail behind them. The reinforced metal struts of the turret split apart like an apple around a blade.

Daxter cocked his head, a little impressed, just as someone gasped behind them.

Dark Jak whirled, killer instincts ready and salivating.  
Daxter lunged for his shoulder, gripping tight to one horn and ready to try and talk his best friend out of murdering some random civilian.

A dirty kid, probably not even a teenager yet, was standing stock still with wide eyes.

But he wasn't afraid, Daxter realised slowly. No, that would be too damn smart.

The stupid kid was in _awe_. Freaking _hero worship_ shone in pale green eyes, a desire to get closer expressed as one foot shuffled forwards.

Dark Jak, thank the Precursors, hadn't gone for his throat yet. Whether it was the surprise or some other result of his exposure to the White stuff, Dark Jak's blood lust didn't seem to be kicking in.

Yet.

"You're.." The kid breathed. "You're.. ohmigod_ohmigod_, you're _him!_"

"Yeah, yeah, Heroes of the city kid, now **beat it**!" Daxter snapped. Jak hadn't gone fully Dark yet, but damned if he hadn't spoken or looked away either. Black eyes were locked on the stranger, clawed hands closing and opening over and over.

"_The Dark Warrior_" The kid almost squealed the title, continuing to be oblivious to his own imminent doom. "Holy _Precursors_, you're so _**cool**_!"

Daxter twitched. Okay, enough was enough.

He leapt off of Jak's shoulder and bolted towards the kid. A heartbeat later, the kid's grimy shirt was fisted in his paws as he stood against his chest and yelled "What am **I**, chopped lurker liver?!"

There was a strange, choked cough from behind them and Daxter had just enough time to feel a cold thrill of horror that he left the _psycho killing machine_ alone before Jak's gravelly – but **normal** – voice hit his ears.

"No, you're Orange Lightning. Remember?"

Daxter turned and glared at his (Normal! Thank the Precursors!) friend, silently thankful for this weird, wonderful new self-control.

"Yeah, so where's _my_ fanboy?" He grumbled, letting go of said fanboy and walking moodily back to the turret. "Or better yet, fan_girls_. Plural."

"You have a _secret identity_!" The fanboy crowed, almost hyperventilating with joy.  
Daxter rolled his eyes and hung his head.

"Why? _Why_?" He bemoaned loudly. "_I'm_ the better looking one!"

The little ottsel started pacing back and forth, watched by an amused best friend and eyed by a slightly weirded-out fanboy.

"My hero-name is way cooler! I have a hottie girlfriend who serves me liquor! Wait!"

He whirled on the fanboy and glared at him darkly.

"It's because I don't have _pants_, isn't it?" The ottsel demanded sharply. Fanboy looked away, then up, then paled sharply.

"It _is_, isn't it?" Daxter demanded furiously. "I _knew_ it!" He turned sharply to his friend. "Didn't I tell you, Jak?!"

"Pants are power." Jak agreed solemnly just as fanboy made a strangled noise and scrambled away from them as quickly as he could.

Jak and Daxter stared after him in confusion.

"...Your fanboy's kinda skittish." Dax observed, turning back around. "Anyone would think there was a.... death... bot.. behind... us..."

A high-pitched ottsel scream rang out over the sound of a morph gun deploying. A concussive wave of force fanned out just in time, catching the death bot that had somehow snuck up behind them and flinging it backwards.

"Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaak!" Daxter screeched, clawing up Jak's leg to his shoulder. "What the hell are those hunks of scrap doin' here?!"

"Trying to kill us!" Jak snapped, backing up a step or two and switching to vulcan mode. The gun whined as it built up speed and started dispensing blue metallic death.

"Ya think?!" Daxter yelped. "But the Krimzon Guard are done with! Kaput!"

Jak grit his teeth and didn't reply. The death bots were followed by a swarm of other mechanical soldiers, all bearing the distinctive red armor of the KG.

He couldn't even run. The Freedom League didn't patrol this far. If he left, there'd be nothing to stop the machines from slaughtering every civilian they came across.

But... he was already running out of ammo. He hadn't raided city supplies since before the whole mess in the Wasteland.

Most of the smaller machines had already split off into alleys and pipelines, spreading throughout the district. Jak concentrated fire on the larger threats and hoped to hell the people here knew how to _run_.

Just as his vulcan clicked empty, there came a roar of a badly-maintained engine and suddenly a rust bucket of a vehicle barreled out of a narrow alleyway and fishtailed to a halt beside them.

The vehicle was mostly engine with a large cage weighing it down. The cage was covered with tarps and bits of cloth, shielding the contents from the sun – and the prying eyes of any passer-bys.  
Weirdly, three entirely different types of wheels had been welded on to the underside and hung only inches above the ground.

Jak, having already changed back to blaster, didn't pause in shooting - although he tilted his head towards the van as the fanboy from before leaned out the window and shouted "_Get in, Mr Jak!_"

"Dax, roof." Jak ordered curtly, switching gun modes fluidly and firing off a peacemaker round – his last – before switching the gun back and tossing it up into the air.

Daxter, who had lunged from his shoulder to the roof over the truck almost before Jak had finished speaking, caught the gun just as smoothly and barely paused to brace himself before opening fire on the remaining KG bots.

With the fanboy watching nervously and Daxter providing cover fire, Jak triggered his Dark with barely a thought.

For one almost overpowering instant his every muscle strained to lunge into battle, to sink his claws into the murderous machines and wreak destruction. Keeping his mind in the midst of a fight was infinitely more difficult than just standing around had been only minutes before. Had the enemy been metal-heads – bred from Dark Eco – he would have lost the battle.

As it was, he shook himself sharply and leapt the distance between himself and the gun turret. Hefting it with ease, he ran back to the hover vehicle and jammed it in the back – the bulk of the machine pushing the hanging tarps aside.

"Woah, no, mister, bad idea!" The fanboy shouted, unnecessarily loud. Jak ignored him, shoving the machine firmly into the slight recess of the cage. He then turned and leapt to the door the fanboy was leaning out of, his claws slicing through it and the side mirror like they were made of clay.

With an effort of will, he forced back the darkness, ducking his head to hide the expression of pain and disorientation he knew flickered over his face.

He looked up into wide, frightened green eyes.

"I'm driving." He growled, wrenching open the door, not surprised in the slightest when the fanboy scrambled away from him and into the passenger seat.

"Daxter!" He barked, already shifting the machine into gear.

A second later Daxter's furry little body slipped in through the open window, his back braced against the dashboard, still firing away.

"They're right on our tails, Jak!" Daxter yelled, his voice almost lost behind the snap-hiss of gunfire.

Jak flicked the switch to move the vehicle into the traffic zone and gunned the engine, just as the fanboy lunged to stop him.

The engine whined as it accelerated.. before the vehicle dropped like a rock and bounced sickly as the hover circuits cut out.

The reason for the wheels welded on below suddenly became clear.

Gritting his teeth and fighting for control as the mis-matched wheels forced the accelerating vehicle to move unpredictably, Jak found time to throw an incredulous glance at the kid beside him.

"You gotta be moving past fourth tier before the hover can lift this kinda weight!" The fanboy yelled over the sound of the straining engine. "But it can get us to pedestrian level! She'll ride smoother if we can get her off her wheels!"

Taking a corner with more luck than skill, Jak flicked the hover switch back down and pressed the starter button.

It failed to engage.

"I've got it!" The fanboy yelped, jamming his thumb down on the button over and over.

"Do it fast!" Dax yelled, ducking inside now that they were out of direct firing sight "This exit leads to the old slums – that ground will _murder_ these stinkin' wheels – and us!"

"C'mon, c'mon.." The fanboy whimpered to himself. "Please Clara, c'mon."

A few rapid presses of the button later and the hover circuits kicked back in again, lifting the vehicle with an ungainly, uneven lurch. Immediately, the strained sound of the engine dropped a notch as it no longer had to fight gravity and the resistance of the ground against uneven wheels.

"Yes!" The fanboy yelled jubilantly. "I knew you could do it baby! Who's my clever girl?"

Daxter shot the fanboy a weirded-out look of his own before turning back to act as a look-out.  
The slums were coming up fast and Jak needed to slow enough not to bring attention to them.. and so they didn't pancake anybody and get arrested.

"Nuthin' behind us." He reported. The ride was smoother now that the wheels were off the ground, even though a worrisome shudder rippled through the vehicle every minute or so.

"We need to drop this off and then tip off Ashelin." Jak murmured. The tight focus of battle was already gone from his face, leaving only calm blue eyes and a look of slight determination.

Daxter made a negating noise.

"If she's so in love with the idea of being the boss, she can find out herself." He objected strongly. Although he'd never said anything specific, Jak knew his best friend was very upset with the way their war-time friends had treated them after it was over.

Jak glanced down at Dax, then across to the kid. The look was so fast, only Daxter caught it.

"Fine." The ottsel sighed, understanding that a grudge wasn't reason enough to increase the risk to all the people still living in this sector. "But we'd better get a reward or _somethin_'. Now, lets get this hunka junk to my homegirl. Geeze, the things I do to keep her happy..."

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End! I thought this chapter would be late, but it's only 7am on Friday, score!

So far I am _on track_ for my New Year's resolution.

Please review! If you didn't review last time, please let me know why!! Did you not like it? If so, which part and why? I need to know what your thoughts are or it will never get better!


	5. Chapter 5

Once again, scenes that were supposed to be in this chapter have been pushed back to later chapters.

Frustrating.

Thank-you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I was so worried I'd failed you all and you really smacked some sense into me! THANK YOU!

**Special mention should be made of Kitsuna. It was due to her sounding that a certain muddy event came to be.**

The POV is ALL over the place today. I'm so sorry! This is what happens when I don't have enough time to rewrite it over and over!

**Please read: **I keep forgetting to let people know, so here it is. There are **NO ships** (besides Dax and Tess) in this story. That said, there _will_ occasionally be 'moments' between Jak and other people. They may be romantic, platonic or sexual. I, however, firmly believe that this is normal for people of Jak's age and doesn't necessarily mean he will wind up loving and/or marrying them.

By all means, let me know who you'd prefer Jak to be with but it simply won't be an issue in _this_ story AT ALL.

I hope you enjoy today's sample of Damas. :)

**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-**

**Chapter 5**

Tess stalked around the gun turret with the air of an unimpressed master architect observing a ten-year-old's toothpick-house construction. Grabbing a tool out of her belt with the same speed that Jak could draw his weapon, she did something to the sides and back for less than ten seconds.

Then she pressed a button and the whole thing just _opened out_ like a flower, displaying it's mechanical insides.

"Hmm. Ok boys, leave it with me." Tess said finally. "Gimmie a day or two and I'll have this hunk of junk running better than Mar's Precursor Gun!"

"Whew! Baby, _hold that pose_!" Tess raised a surprised eyebrow but dutifully stood still, facing them with one fist on her hip, the strange tool dangling from her other hand with with tiny smudges of grease already marking up her exposed stomach and thigh.

Daxter growled.

"Jak, you gotta camera?" He hissed loudly. "**Please** say that you do!"

Jak shook his head with a slight grin as Tess hid a giggle behind her hand. Precursors knew how that girl found Daxter's outrageous remarks to be cute.

"Uhm, excuse me?"

Daxter cut his reply off as the three of them turned to look at the kid from before stepping shyly into the room.

Jak could hear Tess moving quietly to the workbench, where he knew she kept a very nasty gun hidden in a tool drawer.

He couldn't help but approve, even as he stepped forwards to show without words that this wasn't some random who needed to be threatened into silence.

"Hey," Jak said shortly. "Uh, thanks for the ride. We appreciate it."

"Yeah, you saved our asses, fanboy!" Daxter agreed, apparently forgetting his indignation at the mono-fanboyisim. "I mean, Jak and I coulda handled the bots, no problemo. But getting the turret out was a sweet bonus."

The kid ducked his head with a pleased expression. He glanced up at the two of them, then over to Tess whereupon he immediately went tomato-red and returned his gaze to the floor.

Daxter looked smug.

It was probably why he invited the kid to stay for a meal. He led the way into the bar after Tess had absently waved them off and sent Jak to rustle them up some dinner with a flippant "You know where everything is."

Jak rolled his eyes and went.

Daxter leapt up onto a stool and grandly gestured for the kid to sit next to him.

The kid did so, wide green eyes taking in the many metal head trophies lining the walls. His eyes widened further as _another_ pretty girl walked over to him, this one with blue-green hair and a paper tucked under one arm.

"So.... whatcha name, kid?" Daxter opened. The kid snapped his attention back to the ottsel.

"Uh.. Bolt?"

"You askin' me or telling' me?"

"Uh, no, I mean. Bolt. That's my name."

"Hmm.." Daxter gave this due consideration. "As in 'to run the hell away'?"

The kid flushed. "No, as in – y'know – a bolt? From – from a piece of machinery?"

Dater gave him a deeply suspicious, sidelong look.

"Uh-huh."

"So, you like machines, huh?" The girl broke in, rescuing him from Daxter's mocking company. She grinned reassuringly at the boy. "Me too. I'm kinda a grease monkey. The name's Keira"

The kid both brightened and flushed a little more. In the end though, having a pretty girl like Keira smiling at him was outweighed by the awesomeness of her being interested in the same stuff he was.

"That's so cool! I made my baby - Clara – I made her myself! Every bit of her! Stripped the parts from all kinda mechs left damaged in the attack." He shared proudly.

Keira made an appropriate – and genuine – noise of impressed interest. Sure it was nothing she couldn't do herself – and probably more aesthetically appealingly – but it _was_ very impressive for a kid. She, too, had simply taught herself out of passion and experimentation alone.

"The hover circuits are a bit fritzy, though." Bolt confided sheepishly. "But that's because most of what I could find was too wrecked – hover circuits are delicate and always the first thing to go when a zoomer or cruiser get damaged, ya'know? What I got working was three separate sets hobbled together. It does the job." He added, a little defensively. "But when sometimes it doesn't.. well.." He shrugged. "That's what the wheels are for."

Daxter glowered at the reminder of those wheels.

Jak emerged from the back and set down four plates of just-add-heat instant meals.

"Gourmet." Daxter remarked sarcastically. Jak just shrugged, a smile tugging at his mouth.  
"Hey, I don't cook for people – I kill them. You're lucky you had these lying around."

Keira gave hers a look of mock-horror. "I think I'll eat mine half an hour after yours, Daxter." She teased. Daxter pointed an accusing fork at her. "Animal testing!" He screeched. "You're one of _them!_"

Bolt giggled but tried to muffle the sound. He looked up just in time to catch a wink from Jak before the blond man went back for another plate to bring Tess.

He smiled to himself as he dug into the hot, delicious food.

JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX

Twenty minutes later, three of them had relocated to a booth and were chatting easily as they sipped some after-dinner drinks. Bolt had looked thrilled when Jak had chosen to drink the same fruit juice as him. Keira had had to lift her newspaper in front of her face to hide her giggles.

Jak just pretended not to notice.

Daxter was busying himself behind the bar in preparation for any late-nighters. Two or three had already come in for a drink and were sequestered in their own booths. None of them had batted an eye at being served by a talking animal.

"So, what do you do, Bolt?" Keira asked kindly. She found the kid tended to be too nervous to speak much in Jak's presence, unless he was talking about his beloved machines. "Do you have a job at all?"

Bolt shook his head.

"Only job open to people like me is the Guard." He replied honestly. "And I'm too young for that. Not that I'd _want_ to join, of course, but.. well. There's not a lot of options for us Slummers, you know?"

Keira's eyes darted to her friend, who was staring down at his drink like it held his redemption.  
She knew he occasionally felt guilty for the lives he took, even if he'd never admit it.

It was one thing to see the armor and hate the men it represented. It was quite another talking to a kid – only twelve years old, he'd told them earlier – who was a good representation of what a lot of those men had been before becoming guards.

She cleared her throat.

"What about a mechanic?" She asked curiously. "I work over at the stadium and I know we're _always_ in need of good mechanics. From what you've done already, I can tell you've got a drive for it that would suit the stadium well."

Bolt blushed at the compliment.

"Thanks Miss Keira." He said shyly – they hadn't been able to get him to call them by just their names yet. "But, they don't take Slummers either. Mostly 'cause none of us can afford to pay for certified lessons."

Keira frowned thoughtfully. She had gotten a job when she'd applied, but.. it hadn't been easy. It had been obvious that it was only her looks that even got her the chance to prove herself – the sleaze had wanted to look at her butt as she bent over an engine. Alone and hungry and in desperate need of employment in the strange new world, she'd grit her teeth and gone with it.

Upon proving her talent without a doubt, they'd assumed she was from Kras City and was simply too dim to remember to bring her papers to prove it.

She'd gritted her teeth even harder and gone with that, too.

She'd changed teams three times as her reputation slowly increased. At first they just wanted the 'hot chick mechanic' and Keira had needed the money. Krew's team manager had been the first to recognise more than her figure and had offered her a job for less money but more respect.

She'd taken it. It was worth sleeping in the garage, if she had to. As the months had become years, she finally cemented her place as a respected mechanic.

Bolt, on the other hand, would never have that option.

Keira's face abruptly got the look that preceded any new invention – and often a big explosion.

"Why don't you work for me?" She offered impulsively. "I mean, I can't pay you – not right now, at least – but I can offer you some kind of apprenticeship. Train you up and get you connections you can use to get a proper job when you're old enough?"

Bolt stared at her, eyes wide.

Jak suspected he'd just been booted from number one idol. He took a sip of his drink to hide his grin.

"Really?" Bolt breathed. "I.. I don't know what to say!"

Keira suddenly looked like she realised just how big an offer she'd made.. and just how ignorant she was of how apprenticeships worked in reality.

Rallying bravely, she nodded.

"Just say you'll work hard." She prompted. "Because it'll _be_ hard work. You might get called day or night – I certainly expect you to work every single day that _I_ do.

Bolt just nodded sharply, an exuberant grin stretching his face.  
"I _will_!" He swore fervently "This is.. I mean.. _**thank you**_!"

Keira blushed a little.

"...Well, it's getting late." She said after a moment. "You should probably get some rest." She glanced over to Jak.

"I commed Ashelin, who sent some guards to the area to investigate the attack." Jak shared quietly. "She said her people would lock it down for the night."

Keira nodded. "Then I guess you'd better sleep here tonight." She directed at Bolt, flapping a hand to indicate he should get out of the booth. He did so and she slid out after him.

"I'll go find him a place to bunk down." She told Jak "Can you go and check on Tess? That girl won't sleep at all if she's caught up in something."

Jak nodded and drained the rest of his juice as Keira herded the kid towards the back.

Standing, he made eye contact with Daxter and signaled his intentions, getting a nod in return.

Without a word, he strode out into the night.

JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX

"JAK!"

Tess' eyes were fever-bright as she latched onto his arm and dragged him away from her workshop.

She had caught him just outside the door, clearly on her way to find him.

Jak half-jogged after her lest she wrench his arm out of socket. Where did she keep those muscles?

"I've set it up in the shooting range." She murmured in his ear. Although there were hardly any people about the docks at night, it also meant that sound traveled easily.

"So you did it?" Jak asked, once again impressed. Tess shot him a victorious look. "Piece of pie!" She chirped.

Less than a minute later they were inside the range. It was semi-open to the public, but Tess had a code that sealed the door from the inside.

Prodding him towards a side door, she swiped a card and then tugged him inside.

Screens were switched on all over the walls, showing every angle of the shooting range.

"This is where we test new weapons from, usually when they're too experimental to safely be near." She explained. "This is one of those times. Alright! See that screen?" She pointed at the main one he couldn't possibly miss.

Jak nodded.

It showed a corner of the course where the modified gun turret – painted black - had been installed. Behind the turret was a section with only civilians displayed.

Around the turret was a line, most likely tape or spray-painted onto the cement.

The corner positioning meant attacks could come from two separate directions.

"See the line?" Tess prompted. Jak nodded. "That lines represents the wall of whatever structure needs to be defended. This turret is designed to sit on top of a wall and point down – although it won't in this trial. It can also point up to intercept airborne enemies, which _will_ be in this trial. I've programed the computer to move no more than 85 degrees to the left and 95 degrees to the right – this will prevent the machine from being tricked into shooting it's own defenders. Although sensors surround the turret, they will ignore anything outside the specified area – got it?"

Jak nodded again.

"Ok!" Tess beamed, snatching up a control panel.

"Now, I've also programed a very basic priority program into the control crystal. It just means it'll target closer enemies over further ones. I've also built a switch into them so they can be set for air _and _land attacks or just one of either. For this test, they're switched to both."

Jak leaned forwards and rested his hands against the desk, watching the screens closely.

"Starting... now!" Tess announced, stabbing the start button.

The turret powered on with a low hum, barely audible to the sensors in the room. It shifted slightly, swinging back and forth as though getting its bearings before settling down.

With a loud buzzing noise, the enemy cut-outs started streaming out of walls – both near and far.

The turret burst into action, firing shot after shot with mechanical accuracy both near and far, swiveling smoothly to defend from attack on both sides and always taking out the nearer attackers (who would have the most power and accuracy) first.

The 'attackers' increased in number and the turret sped up to match them.

With another loud buzzing noise, cut-outs began unfolding from the roof, causing the turret to tilt up on silken hydraulics and begin blowing them away too.

It continued to fire according to it's priority protocol, moving smoothly and rapidly to deal red death to numerous wooden enemies.

When it finished, the kill chart showed only a few survivors – and they had all been at the longest distance.

"Wow." Jak said honestly.

Tess grinned. "Thanks, but it gets even better. I figured, if the turrets were ever needed for a long period of time? They stood the risk of overheating. So, as you can see, I've repainted it with a UV-reflective solution to cut down on heat from the sun. I've also replaced the KG emblem on top with a solar panel! The panel powers an internal cooler which is set to automatically switch on when the machine gets above a certain threshold."

Jak nodded, thinking of the machines being set in the desert. **That** was a brilliant solution to a possible problem he hadn't even thought about and she hadn't even known about.

"There _are_ some issues, of course." Tess said reluctantly. Jak turned and gave her his full attention.

"I tried to sort something out regarding targets – so it wouldn't shoot civilians, right? But I just don't have the programing knowledge to really manage it without using something simple – like beacons that the machine can detect and identify as friendlies. And that's just inviting exploitation, you know?"

Jak nodded. He _did_ know. Stealing one of those beacons would be exactly what he would do if he ever needed to get past one of these machines.

"Also, they'll shoot at animals as well as enemies, so.. better hope a flock of birds doesn't pass overhead!" Tess giggled nervously.

"I've got some ideas for improvements – mobile units that can move to heavier firefights and provide assistance, for example.. but not the parts to put it in this one."

Jak put both hands on her shoulders.

"This is brilliant." He said simply. "Above and beyond what I was hoping for."

Tess smiled at him, relief and satisfaction clear in her expression.

"If I knew more about what they were for, I could probably improve them even more?" She suggested respectfully, not pushing for answers but just stating a fact.

Jak paused in thought.

"....Maybe later. I don't want you to be in any danger." He said finally.

Tess nodded her understanding. Frankly, considering how illegal most of what she had just done was, she was grateful he thought of protecting her.

"Alright, lets go crate that up." Jak said firmly, dropping his hands. "Then we have to get back to the bar and catch some sleep – Keira's orders. In the morning, Dax and I will deliver it."

Tess powered down the auto-fire system and turned off the turret by remote – double checking to make sure it wouldn't fire on _them_.

Yawning, she followed Jak out of the room.

She couldn't wait to crawl into bed. Suddenly she was so tired...

JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX

Morning came sooner than any of them were happy about.

Daxter set the door to 'open' to try and waft out the smell of a drunk from last night. Tess cooked something fried and pungent to try and cover it in the meantime.

Bolt was sitting at the bar barely able to believe how much his life had changed in the last little while.

First meeting his hero, Mr Jak, then being offered an _apprenticeship_ by Mr Jak's friend, Miss Keira...

He smiled dreamily as the pretty blond girl, Tess, served him some food and ruffled his hair.

"Did you call your parents last night?" She asked, sitting next to him with a plate of her own. When Keira shot her a look of abject rejection she laughed and waved her towards the kitchen to get her own food.

Keira rolled her eyes and grinned, then grabbed a very grumpy Jak and dragged him into the kitchen with her.

"Yeah, I mean, they're dead, but I called home." Bolt answered, stuffing his face. He wondered belatedly if he was being rude, but a glance to the side showed Tess stuffing _her _face even faster than him!

Tess made a sound of understanding – there were a lot of orphans these days, it was good he had _someone_ to call – and kept going. She was always _starving_ after pulling an all-nighter.

Daxter, who'd already eaten, was moving glasses that had been left to dry over night from the drainer to the bar. When Tess finished eating, she dropped the plate into the sink and rubbed his fur before she got started on 'cleaning' the glasses of water spots with a soft cloth.

Bolt pushed his own plate away with a satisfied sigh and started to wonder what was keeping Miss Keira and Mr Jak so long when there was a scuffle in the doorway behind him.

He turned to see a very familiar girl. Although she was about the same age as Miss Tess and Miss Keira, she looked older. Her face was worn and creased with stress and grief and a bump on her belly gave unspoken evidence of her pregnancy.

"Hey sis!" Bolt greeted her with a mix of enthusiasm and hesitancy. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he gulped.

"Hector Maine! You little snotface!"

Bolt's cheeks flamed. He shot a shy glance to the side where Tess was cleaning a glass with apparent disinterest whilst Daxter watched on with avid, gleeful interest.

He thanked the Precursors that Mr Jak and Miss Keira were still in the other room...

"Snotface?" Daxter asked quietly, a grin clear on his furry little mug. Hector felt a twinge of annoyance.

"She's my sister." He answered just as quietly, watching with dread as the girl made her way around the fighting ring and zeroed in on his position.

In _his_ mind, that explained everything.

"What the hell is _wrong_ with you?!" The girl snapped. "I was up all night freaking out over you! Jessen is still out looking for you! And all I get is a comm in the morning saying 'Hey sis, I'm at the Hip Hog'?"

The girl looked to be getting out of breath. Already thin in the face and exhausted-looking, her rant brought an unhealthy flush of colour to her forehead and throat.

"Do you _know_ what used to go on in here?!" She yelled. "Do you have _any_ idea-?! How- I-"

Suddenly, Tess was at her side. With gentle hands and a soft voice, she coaxed the girl to rest on one of the wide barstools. Daxter, without an incendiary word and moving like the orange lightning he had proclaimed himself to be, placed a bottle of water – already opened -by her hand along with a glass with ice in it.

With a mutter of thanks, the girl took a slow drink and got her breathing back under control.

Bolt, looking horribly guilty, stepped up to her side and laid n apologetic hand on hers.

"I'm sorry, Shell." He apologised lowly. "I just didn't think."

Shelley shot him a nasty glare that said quite clearly 'No, really?'.

Bolt winced.

"See, I was kinda caught up in an attack earlier.." He hurried on as his sister choked on her drink. "But it's ok! Mr Jak was there! You know, _the_ Jak. Anyway, he got me out, but the Governor locked that section down for the night 'cause of the bots. So, I stayed here – and I know I should've called you, but.. well.."

At this he couldn't contain his excitement and a brilliant smile lit up his face.

"Miss Keira offered me an apprenticeship! For real! She's a mechanic at the stadium!! Isn't that so cool? She was really impressed by Clara."

Shelley looked startled, before she shot a narrowed, suspicious look at Tess.

Not really understanding the reason behind it, Bolt hurried to reassure her.

"Miss Keira is really nice, I promise. And she's friends with Mr Jak!"

His sister opened her mouth to say something – probably harsh – but stopped as the door to the kitchen swung open and a teal-haired girl exited followed by a blond man who was rolling his eyes at whatever she was saying.

She stilled, recognising him just like he knew she would.

Mr Jak was hard to forget, even if you only ever saw his Dark form.

Her eyes shifted, finally, to take in the girl and he knew she was seeing her worn hands – proof of her hard work – and kind eyes.

Her eyes swung back to glare at him.

"_Don't_ think we won't be having _words_, mister." She growled.

He cringed.

Keira wandered over and swapped places with Tess, who walked off with Daxter on her shoulder towards Jak.

Keira leant forwards slightly to get Shell's attention.

"Hi, I'm Keira." She introduced herself, smiling. "I'm guessing you're the one I should talk to about Bolt's apprenticeship?"

Shell's eyes softened a little in humor as she glanced at him again.

"Bolt, huh?" She asked, voice _very_ amused. Bolt hunched down and watched Miss Tess and Mr Jak leave, wishing he was leaving with them.

JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX

"Listen, Jak.. Keira and I were talking about this last night before bed." Tess started.

Daxter sighed blissfully and lay back in her arms, imagining Tess and Keira sleeping together in their little silk nighties.

"I'm happy to work on more.. items.. if you need them," Tess continued, knowing what the ottsel was thinking of and ignoring it. "But frankly I can't afford to. I don't have an infinite amount of material lying around the workshop and if any of the.. 'bases' you send me are damaged? I'd need even more to repair them."

Jak frowned, kicking himself for not thinking of that.

"You're right." He agreed. "Sorry. Any idea how Dax and I can help?"

Tess hesitated. "Well... yes, actually. Dax told me Sig is training you up to be a Wastelander?"

Jak almost froze before he remembered that Haven knew Wastelanders as scavengers of artifacts and nothing more. He nodded instead.

"Well, some of the stuff they find is worth a lot." Tess said frankly. "Either to the city or collectors of ancient artifacts, or as valuable, rare units to the racers, army or mechanics, like me. People will pay a lot for the stuff – sometimes even the junk. Why not bring some stuff in and use that to pay for it? There might even be enough left over for all of us to pocket."

Daxter beamed up at his girlfriend.

"Brilliant idea, sweetness!" He enthused. "And with that floating tribute to obesity six feet under, _we_ can control the sale of it!"

Tess brightened. "Yeah! That's what I was thinking! The people who are interested in that stuff already know the Hip-Hog was the place to go for it. Keira thought we could start a regular auction – maybe once a week or once a fortnight? Not only would it bring in some cash, but it'd boost our sales and bring some more people into the bar as well!"

You could almost see the dollar signs in Daxter's eyes.

"It _is_ a good idea." Jak agreed. "We'll try and sort something out on our end – you girls can be in charge of setting up and advertising the sales – yeah?"

Tess nodded. Daxter sat up suddenly.

"I've _**got **_it!" He yelled suddenly. His eyes were glazed as they looked at an image only he could see.

"We need entertainment! The Naughty Ottsel can use this as a launching point for it's new image! Music! Wine! Rare artifacts up for auctions! Hot chicks waitressing and best of all..."

The glazed eyes somehow managed to leer.

"_**Mud wrestling!**_" He shouted, drawing stares from all around them. Scrambling up, he leapt onto Jak's head.

"COME TO THE NAUGHTY OTTSEL TO SEE **THE** MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMEN IN THE WORLD **DUKE IT OUT** IN NOTHING BUT THEIR BATHING SUITS!" He yelled as loudly as he could.

Jak grabbed him and stuffed him into Tess's arms – which were suddenly not so much cuddling as strangling.

Daxter blinked up with big dewy eyes as Tess glared down with fire in hers.

"...Right, honeymuffin?" He squeaked.

Jak rolled his eyes and left the two alone as he went to load up his 'borrowed' transport unit.

JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX JAKNDAX

"I can't believe you left me alone with her." Daxter grumbled for the fifth time.

The two of them were waiting to see Damas, the turret in a crate beside them set on a rare hover-trolley for shifting heavy cargo.

Daxter had been complaining of this ever since they left Haven, the ottsel's fur was badly ruffled and actually scorched in some places.

"_I _can't believe you loudly volunteered your girlfriend to mud wrestle in a bikini just to draw business to your bar." Jak returned easily. "You're lucky Keira wasn't there... although I suppose she'll get her hands on you at some point."

Daxter turned and looked up at his best friend.

"....How did you know Tess's bathing suit is a bikini?" He asked suspiciously.

Jak coughed and stood as an aide waved him over.

"Our turn, let's go." He muttered, grabbing the trolley and pushing it ahead of himself to the elevator.

Daxter stared after him, before running to catch up.

The trip up the loudly-clanking elevator was without words.

Jak silently freaked out over actually speaking – alone, pretty much – with his father for the first time and Daxter was wrapped up in paranoid speculations about whether Jak had gotten into the habit of going through his girl's underwear drawer.

When they reached the top, Jak drew a deep, steadying breath. Daxter, feeling his shoulders moving, started paying attention.

Knowing how this would freak his closest buddy out, he put all thoughts of bikinis to the back of his mind for now.

One paw squeezed Jak's ear in solidarity.

Jak pushed the trolley forward and stopped it once it was well away from the water. Applying the breaks, he moved to stand beside it as Daxter leapt down to undo the latches.

Damas.. his Father.. looked at him without emotion.

"...My aide tells me you have something to report." He said at last. Jak felt something inside him tighten horribly as the Father he couldn't remember didn't even acknowledge him.

He cleared his throat and locked down his own emotions. He was used to that, at least.

"Yeah. Sig and I were talking about making the cacti plantation a more permanently defensible operation." He said simply.

It was probably his imagination, but he thought Damas looked a little disappointed for a split second.

"I see." Damas replied, the moment gone and nothing remaining but his harsh regal face. "And did Sig also tell you why we haven't done so already?"

A muscle in Jak's jaw actually twitched at the unspoken sentiment that he was acting out of ignorance of the wisdom of his betters. His eyes narrowed, just slightly. His eyes darkened quite a lot.

"...Yes." He answered curtly. "Lack of manpower, too difficult to defend, as well as increased attention drawn from Marauders, to start with."

He drew a breath.

"But I think that place is too valuable to continue as it is and just _hope_ the Marauders never come in force – never get to wondering why the few that get too close always encounter Wastelanders."

He gestured towards the box and Daxter released the final latches, dropping the front and side panels down. He snatched up the top panel and jumped to the ground with it under his arm.

Damas stared at the clearly re-worked gun turret.

"I have a friend who is gifted with weaponry." Jak explained shortly. "This is a KG turret I gave to her yesterday. I was with her during the test and it is far superior. It shoots much faster, with greater accuracy. It can detect and destroy airborne targets as well as ground targets. It has a very capable priority protocol that enables it to destroy the closer, greater threats without being distracted away. It is UV and heat resistant. It has an internal cooling engine that is solar powered. It can run on nothing but Red Eco – which Sig tells me has a vent within the ruins – and needs only minimal maintenance once a year."

By now, even Damas couldn't disguise his wide eyes.

"She doesn't know it's intended for desert conditions." Jak admitted. "But if she did, she could no doubt improve it further. She already has plans for mobile units that could be activated as support for permanently installed turrets."

Jak stepped forwards, catching Damas' eyes.

"We can _do this_." He said firmly. "It's just a matter of getting abandoned turrets in to her and then out of the city again. "She needs payment for parts, of course, but Wastelanders are known for bringing in artifacts. She's not even charging for labor – offering her services simply because she's a friend."

Damas shot him a sharp look.

"A friend who might start to wonder why a Wastelander needs so many working turrets!" He snapped. "By involving an outsider, you threaten the security of Spargus!"

Jak glared.

"There _is_ no threat." He denied hotly. "Even if she suspected that the Wastelanders were somehow organising, there's no way she could guess at Spargus – or you!"

"You are letting your personal attachment blind you." Growled the King, pacing back and forth. "We don't know this Havenite-"

"_You_ don't." Jak interrupted sharply. "_I_ do."

The two had a short stare-down. Damas would never have been challenged so blatantly by any of his other warriors and the worst bit was, he didn't think Jak was doing it because of their.. their.. 'connection'. He was doing it simply because it was in his nature to do so.

Damas himself was torn between raging at the boy's disrespect and crying as the glaring blue eyes before him reminded him harshly of the boy's mother – and thus the boy's own true identity.

He couldn't bear to speak of it, though. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

In some ways, he was a coward.

But damn it all.. he couldn't bare to loose his little Mar all over again.. and that's what would happen, if ever he acknowledged that...

"Fine." He bit out eventually. "I will give the turret to my men to test. If it is as excellent as you claim, then I will trust your... experience... and place you in charge of obtaining and setting up the plantation's defenses.

Both men relaxed a little, settling back from combat-ready to just 'ready'.

Daxter watched them both with wide eyes.

"But know this." Damas warned darkly. "If ever your friend should look to betray us, _you_ will be responsible for silencing her."

Daxter gulped. Jak just stared his father down, unflinching.

"Fine." He said flatly.

The tension was enough to spark a fire.

Damas turned half away.

"You can leave the turret here. Seem wishes to speak with you. She is at the Temple. You will need to find a way to get there."

It was a clear dismissal. Jak spun on his heel and left without a word, Daxter scurrying after him – not daring to leap up onto his shoulder when he was this tense.

"Jak." Damas called, just as Jak reached the elevator.

Jak paused and turned his head only.

There was a long silence. Out of the corner of his eye, Jak could see the conflict on his Father's face.

"Be careful." Damas said finally, the words strained.

"Your idea.. it's a good one. You are valuable.. to Spargus. I don't want...You should be careful."

Jak stepped onto the elevator and hit the switch.

"I'm always careful." He said flippantly, not turning around.

Damas sighed. As the elevator rattled noisily to life, he muttered something that someone without Jak's advanced senses would never have heard.

"_Your mother always used to say the same._"

END CHAPTER!

Once again, massive chunks have been pushed back to later chapters!

At least this one was a bit bigger than the former chapters!

And you got Damas, YAY! Please let me know what you think of him!!

AND Bolt! (Who had a big chunk now but shouldn't do so again) Is he better or worse than 'just fanboy'?

I look forward to hearing from you!


	6. Chapter 6

**Please note! I am stuffing around a bit with the geography!**

It seemed unlikely that races would be held so close to Spargus when they all seemed to be Marauder cars (?) so I have moved it much further away. Closer to the temple, as it were. Which, er, is also shuffled a little.

My apologies for the lateness! (Although it beats a year, right?) Those of you who read my updates know why. I thought I was busy _last_ year, but that was just mostly reading and essays – easy to procrastinate (though you shouldn't) and easy to do at the last second when desperate. This year it's constant, multiple assignments each week! I've spent all Thursday _and_ Friday just trying to finish this up so I can post it and feel less guilty. :S Now I have only two days to do 20 more tasks.

That said, **all the really exciting stuff doesn't start to happen until **_**next **_**chapter. There's no Damas in this one, no promised nookies and only a little bit of major plot.**

_Also, after experiencing what it's like trying to write this and do my coursework.. I'm afraid the next update I can promise is in June – my mid-year break. Before then – maybe, but I can't promise it._

Assuming, of course, that you're even still interested by then. :S

Special mention, as always, to Kitsuna and missingthepoint. BionicLegs - next chapter, I swear.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed. I really appreciate the time you take, especially as it's such a rare thing these days. I'm glad most people are in favour of a non-tied-down-Jak!  
_MonsterChibiJaxmine_ – thanks for the details in your review. I like knowing what people like specifically (if only so I can write more of it) and I loved where you questioned Jak's changing attitude in regards to his Dark. **  
**_StarDotStar_ – you are a champ. I love your specific comments and would have replied to them if you were logged in!

I hope you enjoy.

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"Wellll... that went well." Daxter said cautiously, leaping up on Jak's shoulder as they paused to allow a small caravan to pass. The monk driving the shaded cart nodded politely to them.

Jak swallowed tightly.

"Yeah." He said, once he was sure his voice wouldn't betray him. "I think we'll grab Sig before we head out, though."

Daxter nodded.

"The big guy would be the one to know about artifact hunting for sure." The ottsel agreed.  
He straightened on Jak's shoulder and cupped his paws around his mouth.

"S_iiiiiii_iiiiiiig!" He yelled loudly, heedless of the many Wastelanders shotting irritated looks at him. "_Siiiiiii_iii-omf!"

Jak slowly released his grip around Daxter's mouth, his fingers folding almost completely around the animal's head.

"Maybe we should just ask someone." He suggested, just as a gravelly voice from behind them intruded on their conversation.

"You lookin' fer Sig?"

The duo turned around to find the _largest_ man they had ever seen – bar Krew. It wasn't difficult to see that the man was a tank – practically built of muscles – with a thick layer of fat over the top.

"The name's Kleiver." The other Wastelander introduced himself. "Yew two sweet things must be Sig's newbies from the Big Smoke, eh? He _said _ yew'd be droppin' by. Follow me."

The large Wastelander moved off and Jak and Dax – sharing a look – followed silently.

After a short trek, Kleiver led them into the city's vehicle depot, the largest room of which also acted as the primary gateway between the city and the desert.

"Everythin' yew see here is mine." Kleiver boasted. "Not Damas'. _Mine_. Sig said yew'd be needin' a vehicle. Well, I don't do freebies. If yew want one of _my_ machine, yew gotta give something in return."

"Like what?" Daxter demanded.

The large man leered at the animal.

"Like a good meal, meybe." He chuckled. "I reckon yew'd be nice and tender, mate. Sliced thin, little butter, some lemon and spice... Mmmm.."

Daxter gulped and Jak picked him up off his shoulder, moving him to the roof of the buggy behind him without speaking. By the time Kleiver refocused on reality, it was to come face-to-face with lethal blue eyes.

"I'd rip your spine out first." Jak said matter-of-factly, his eyes so dark that the flare of purple eco within was easily visible. Kleiver tensed sharply and opened his mouth to respond, only to shut it when a lone spike of dark eco shot from Jak and grounded itself on a nearby toolkit.

Slight movement drew the large man's gaze downwards, where instead of seeing a weapon as he half expected, he found fingers that tapered into vicious, glistening claws.

He swallowed.

"Right." He managed, sounding almost normal. "Fair enough, I suppose. But I still don't do freebies."

"Fair enough." Jak echoed softly, almost mockingly. His dark still trembled about him like a live thing, its imminent manifestation a looming threat.

"We need a heavy transport vehicle at our disposal." Jak started and Daxter jumped a little as he noticed his friend's voice starting to thicken. "As well as transport to the Precursor temple. We don't have anything to trade, so you tell us. How do we make this happen?" _Without gutting you and just taking what we want _went unspoken.

By this point, Daxter was edging towards Jak's leg. He bore the static of dark eco fluffing his fur and brushed careful claws against his friend's boot – testing to see if it was safe to climb.

Kleiver stank of fear now, to both ottsel and Dark Warrior. Still, he was Wastelander enough to continue bargaining.

"I hear yew got a certain crystal lately.." He began leadingly, only to flinch slightly as eco flashed within Jak's skull, lighting it up from within briefly. In the same moment, white teeth sharped and lengthened whilst blonde hair bleached to the colour of bone.

"...how about a wager then?" He tried instead. "There's a little race I host just down the coast. People from Spargus and a couple of other 'in the knows' come sometimes, but mostly it draws Marauders. If yew win it, you got your choice of vehicles for any job you need 'em for. But if yew loose, I get that crystal 'o yours. 'S more than fair, mate – we both got a chance to gain wi'out loosing, eh?"

For one long moment, Daxter thought Jak was too far gone. If there was anything that could anger his friend enough to make him loose his very new, very thin control, it would be threats against Daxter himself.

Eventually, however (and thank the Precursors!), the sense of _ragethreatdeath_ subsided and the Dark eco tainting the air sunk down with grudging obedience.

Jak's hair and skin returned to their natural colouring, his claws and fangs sinking back out of sight.

"Deal." Jak said simply. "Where's the race?"

Kleiver seemed to recover himself now that the threat was gone, although his face couldn't be called anything but pale.

"Due south, round near the basin and ocean. Yew'll see it when you get close enough." He gestured with one meaty hand at a tiny sand buggy with bright red roll-over bars. It was clearly designed for rough maneuvering by people learning to drive, not for speed. Kleiver was trying to tilt the odds in his own favour. "And there's yer vehicle. Race starts in twenny minutes. Best get going."

He turned and stalked back into his office, his gait a little quicker than it had been before.

Daxter scampered up the remaining distance to Jak's shoulder and leant on his head in relief.

"Gettin' a little trigger-happy there, pal." He observed warily, not really liking Jak's increasing fondness for using his Darker half.

He remembered when Dark Jak used to terrify his friend. When changing was a horrifying prospect he fought for as long as he could.

Now, when he seemed to have a little control over it.. it was like Jak couldn't _wait_ to leap into the land of sharp edges and destructive eco.

Like he _enjoyed_ it.

"They're Wastelanders, Dax." Jak replied, unconcerned. "They don't respond to anything but strength. If I want to get anywhere with the ones like Kleiver, I've gotta show them that I'm not a guy to be messed with."

"Besides." He added, as he slipped smoothly into the buggy and started it up. "He wanted to _eat_ you. If he'd taken one step forward, I'd be looking for a place to hide the body."

Daxter didn't know whether that made him feel warm or cold.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Seem stared down at the ancient parchments unrolled before her.

Here were the only records of the catacombs – the map of the mysterious tunnels Mar built beneath the surface of the world – and the last words he recorded about them.

The words were a warning. The catacombs were not for idle exploration. Generations of monks had been entrusted to guard the secrets of the tunnels that led deep into the planet's core. Trusted not to travel there themselves and find the Precursor power hidden within.

Could she truly give a man like Veger such power?

And yet.. the Daystar approached. The end was coming with terrifying swiftness.

The King, for all his wisdom and power, could not so easily enter Haven. Even with the Baron gone, the ruling elite would not willingly give up their stolen power. The Baron's daughter was a prime example of this. To negotiate would take time – time they didn't have – and open the knowledge of the catacombs to many, exposing it to great potential abuse.

Veger, in his greed for power, would hasten to the device _and_ tell no one about it. Perhaps she could bargain with him – ensure he took some of her monks with him.. or at least herself.

Much to her shame, she was afraid to tell any other monk of the deal she was considering striking. She knew they would not condone such sacred knowledge to any outsider. Even now, with the Daystar so close.

"Precursors, guide me." She whispered, one hand brushing over the parchment in an unconscious prayer for wisdom.

The sound of engines drifted in through the high windows in this room of the temple. Kleiver's underground races took place far from Spargus, as Damas would not permit them otherwise. The old King of Haven would never have allowed one of his men to hold such ruthlessly violent, rigged games. They were little more than death traps, sucking in the greedy and violent and paying out to Kleiver alone.

The new King of Spargus was, in many ways, not what he'd once been.

She had best attend the race. Often, Marauders left Spargus citizens to die of exposure, rather than kill them outright. Even if there was nothing more she could offer than a swift end, that was kinder than staying away.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Engines roared and rumbled as five racers – four bulky Marauder vehicles and one stumpy little Spargus joke – jostled for the best position in line. Jak hung back a little, both because he'd arrived late and because _his_ racer didn't even have a shell, let alone armor.

It was becoming more and more obvious that Kleiver's intention was for them to die in this race – and either win his possessions from the other Marauders or rob his corpse himself.

He growled, deep and quiet in his throat. This seemed to be a cue for his best friend, who turned from his suspicious eyeballing of Marauders (The two up front were screaming abuse at each other) to stare at_ him_ instead.

"Ya know.." Daxter started slowly, expression blank even as he checked for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice. "Anyone else standing in the room.. they woulda known you and Damas were related."

Jak stared at him, completely poleaxed. Where had _that_ come from?

"I mean it, Jak." Daxter said firmly and quietly. His little face was uncommonly serious. "When you two were glarin' at each other... You were like really scary mirror images. And.. I guess, it made me think. You're not gonna be able to hide this forever."

Jak looked away, glaring into the desert.

"...Right. His kid is like, five – remember? Besides – it doesn't matter. Who'd even care?"

Daxter's reply was lost in the loud retort of a gun up ahead. It wasn't the starting signal – just some Marauder that got pissed over some _other_ Marauder who edged too far over the starting line – but it seemed to have triggered the start of the race. Sand sprayed the air as wheels spun for traction and five vehicles tore off over the rough course.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0  
**

"Ashelin!"

Ashelin looked up from the letters she'd been going through. The city council had seized a lot of power since her father's death. They'd gone from handling the most basic policies and administrative powers her father couldn't be bothered to deal with, to control over pretty much every level of government and trade. The only thing she had left – and the only thing keeping her from being nothing more than a puppet Governor – was the military. She'd inherited the Guard from her father, along with his title – but her effort to set them aside from their old incarnation with new colours and name had had the unfortunate side effect of encouraging other nobles to do the same.

Some had just started recruiting off the streets, promising the most simple, basic necessities to those who lost their homes and livelihoods in the war – even though they didn't have the technical right to do so.

They knew she hardly had the power to refuse them, though – not without risking the other lords banding together and casting her out. The best she could hope to do was to lay claim to their militias, using her status and the argument that multiple forces was an administrative nightmare.

The recent attacks by Krimson Bots would actually work in her favour. When the city was under attack, she - as heir to the Baron's power – automatically gained the right to command any armed forces in the city in order to protect Haven.

It was for that reason that she'd ordered the attack yesterday to be sealed off and only covertly investigated the possible source of the bots. It wouldn't be politically wise to just storm in and remove the threat for good by accident – not until her position was secure enough to stand without it.

"Torn." She greeted. "What did you find?"

"My scouts have reported movement from the old floating factory." Torn said grimly, coming around her desk to lean against it. "I think it's obvious someone has started it up again – but I don't know who. All the old access keys are accounted for, except..?"

Ashelin silently pulled her own key from her back pocket before returning it.

"So someone has hacked their way into the system." She concluded, turning her head to stare out her window. "What are the defences like?"

"Minimal." Torn grunted. "I could take a squad of men in and.." He trailed off as Ashelin shook her head.

"No. Not yet." She turned and flashed him a pained smile. "Right now, we _need_ something like this. The council has been seizing more and more power – Kelligon and Veger in particular. While I've been trying to rebuild Haven, they've been quietly gathering support and.." Without realising it, Ashelin's voice had been getting louder, her private anger and frustration leaking through.

Torn rested a supportive hand on her shoulder. Ashelin closed her eyes and breathed out slowly.

"Sorry." She muttered after a moment. "It just pisses me off. I thought, finally, I could make a difference. That after so long at war, people would be happy to cooperate. Instead, they just bring up law after by-law, regulations that _conflict_ half the damn time anyway – all aimed at increasing their own power and decreasing mine!"

Torn tilted his head, a tired grimace on his lips.

"Yeah. It's just like before. I think one of the reasons your Father came down so hard on his own people was because of all the other nobles snapping at his heels. He had to rule with an iron fist or risk being banished himself."

Ashelin made a frustrated noise.

"But I don't want to have to be like that! I _shouldn't_ have to! I keep looking through our laws, trying to combat them, but..."

There was an awkward silence.

"But the laws are designed to prevent anyone not of the line of Mar from taking command.." Torn finished quietly, his hand squeezing her shoulder slightly.

Ashelin looked up at him, many emotions flashing through her eyes. Irritation, embarrassment, resentment and frustration were the strongest of all.

"You know.. maybe Damas.." Torn started suggesting, only for Ashelin to stand abruptly, shrugging off his hand.

"I should never have told you about him." She grumbled, pacing back and forth in front of the window. "You think I haven't thought about contacting him?"

Torn watched with patient eyes.

"Why haven't you?" He asked – not judging.

Ashelin shrugged.

"...I'm worried." She admitted. "Rightful ruler or not, banished or not.. he was gone during the war. Assuming he'd even be interested in ruling Haven and not just tearing the place down, the _people_ wouldn't be too welcoming of a man who vanished right before things were the worst – even though that wasn't his fault. And the council would seize those excuses to start a civil war – to be honest, I think that's one of the main reasons they're gathering their forces right now. They're afraid Damas will return and enact justice on those who betrayed him."

There was a period of silence. From her place at the window, Ashelin could see the industrial sector - a dead zone with hellcats patrolling the border.

With people still inside, at the non-existent mercy of rouge Death Bots.

"If it's a matter of public opinion." Torn said slowly. "We do have another descendant hanging around. The way I hear it, he's pretty popular with anyone who got the short end of the stick during the war. He also scares the piss out of quite a few nobles, which should give you less trouble with them."

He was deliberately provoking her and they both knew it. Ashelin glared at the window.

"You know I can't." She snapped. "Descendant or not... Jak is a loose canon. Even ignoring all the crap we'd have to go through to prove he is who he is – and his story includes time travel, remember? - he's pretty infamous for being a violent killing machine. Everybody knows he was a prison escapee and a _lot_ of the nobles also know that he was a failed experiment. You think they won't use that against him? As an excuse to have him killed or worse?"

"And if you loose your power?" Torn asked steadily. "Would he be an option then?"

The redhead turned.

"...I don't know." She said quietly. "Honestly.. I like him, Torn. I really do. But I'm not blind. He _hates_ Haven - and I don't blame him. The only reason he stayed and fought in the war was for the few people who mattered to him. And on top of that festering hatred? He was raised 400 years in the past, with no education relevant to today's society. He spent two years having Dark eco spliced into him and there are boxes_ full_ of recorded events where civilians, soldiers and prisoners alike all went _insane_ after varying amounts of contact with that crap. His mind and body are **both** on a knife edge – how could I possibly support someone like that to rule Haven as King?"

Torn huffed dryly.

"Is that why you sent him out into the desert with Sig?" He asked, almost cruelly. "To get him out of the way? Make it not an option? Like Father like Daughter?"

The look of hurt rage he got in return actually made him feel a little bad.

"I sent him out with Sig in the hope that Sig would lead him to Damas." Ashelin replied stiffly. "I don't know if Sig knows, but.. if nothing else, I think Jak stands a better chance of life outside Haven."

"As a Wastelander?" Torn asked incredulously. Ashelin shrugged.

"If he didn't take to the lifestyle, I had a backup plan or two. My next attempt was going to be making him Haven's ambassador and sending him to Kras city for a long-term assignment."

Seeing the look of incomprehension on Torn's face, she elaborated.

"Jak is a talented racer."

Torn blinked, then chuckled.

"I _do_ care about him. A lot." Ashelin insisted. "And I want him to be happy. But I care about Haven too. Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted to make this city a better place. And I just don't think that _Jak_ is the answer to Haven's problems."

"I guess so." Torn said simply. "But you do realise, we're probably gonna need his help if this shit escalates any more?"

Ashelin sighed. "Yeah, I do. That's why I'm heading out there this afternoon. When I called the Naughty Ottsel, Keira told me Jak and Sig have been going out into the Wasteland a lot – they're planning on holding artifact auctions at the Ottsel later in the week."

"Looks like that plan of yours is working well, then." Torn noted. Ashelin acknowledged him with a nod.

"I asked Keira to call Jak and set up a meeting." She continued. "If nothing else, I need to warn him about the enemies he has within the council. It's also a good opportunity to see how he's going."

"You could just ask." Torn suggested with a wry grin. Ashelin shrugged and sat back at her desk.

"I'm too busy to ask." She retorted, her own lips curling in a smile. "And on that note – get out. If I have to keep reading this crap whilst you're standing next to me, I'm liable to order you to go burn someone's house down."

Torn chuckled and left without a word, Ashelin sending a brief, fond smile after him.

He really did have a way of making her feel better.

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

Mud splashed up and over them, slicking the wheels and making Daxter burrow into Jak's shirt to maintain his grip.

After two circuits already, Jak was experienced enough to turn the loss of traction to his advantage, gunning the turbo to send his vehicle into a slide designed to clip the edge of the course.

Something he'd learnt from the other racers – cheating was fine, so long as you didn't mind being shot at for it and that corners were made to cut.

One vehicle had cut too wide, trying to cut across the desert and skip an entire section of the course. A concealed turret had popped up as he drove past and turned his vehicle into a smoking skeleton of twisted metal.

Another Marauder had been driven off the course and into the ocean by his compatriots. One advantage of being in such a pathetic racing vehicle was having the bigger, tougher competitors ignore him in favour of eliminating the bigger threats. But now he was second in the line-up, on the final lap and the Marauder right on his tail was coming for his blood.

Rocks pinged the bars around him as the marauder behind him opened fire, the ground splintering violently as the bullets missed the wildly-maneuvering red racer.

Jak's heart was pumping fast and hard, his every sense heightened, his reaction speed increased almost to the level of Dark Jak. The world around him took on a shadowed look and his hands – gripping the wheel so tightly, his fingers left grooves in the metal – started to glow faintly purple.

Skidding back onto the course directly behind the leading Marauder, one hand lifted off the wheel for a moment.

The finish line was dead ahead of them, one straight stretch that his smaller buggy couldn't possibly reach before the faster engine ahead of him, no matter how talented a driver he was.

Daxter, buried against his stomach, didn't see what Jak did.

Jak, caught in a haze of adrenaline and anger and the threat of loosing the crystal that – even now – pulsed with power at his side, stretched his hand towards the vehicle in front of him.

Power slammed out of his body, running down to his palm and radiating from his spread fingers with almost sentient glee. A shock wave of Dark power slammed through the air and shattered the armored vehicle, spraying shards of metal through the air as momentum and total structural failure made it slam into the ground at high speed.

Jak swerved past the mess, not even noticing as several larger chunks smashed off the protective roll-over bars and several smaller ones sliced into his skin.

The hand that had dealt such devastation had moved instantly to protect the small body on his lap, returning to the wheel only once they were past the blast site.

Daxter stirred at the surge of Dark, just as Jak shot over the finish line and slid to a curving halt.

The ottsel looked up at his friend, black-eyed and blank-faced, then over to the smoking ruin on the course.

"The other guy shot him." Jak stated, his eyes still frighteningly dark, his face still without expression.

Daxter's ears drooped even as his heart beat a little faster in fear.

He couldn't remember – ever – a time when Jak had flat-out lied to him before.

What was _happening_ to him?

Too afraid to bring it up, Daxter just nodded. Jak didn't move for a moment, still and empty like a machine without instructions.

Feeling a pulse of Dark energy, Daxter looked down and to the side.

Jak's bag was freaking _glowing_. The shape of the eco crystal within was plainly visible.

Fuck fuck fuckity _fuck_, the freaky monk had been _right_.

That thing was _bad news_ and it was affecting Jak like nothing before it had managed. Maybe he could 'accidentally' fling the damn thing into the ocean..?

Jak moved abruptly, one hand grabbing the bag – the glow vanished instantly – and tying it firmer to his belt, like he'd heard exactly what Dax had been thinking. When the ottsel looked up, though, dark eyes were narrowed on the final Marauder, who had also skidded to a halt nearby and was now climbing out of his vehicle with a large gun and an angry expression.

Daxter was expecting a fight. He expected the marauder to shoot, or say something, or otherwise start trouble.

He was even – much to his shame – expecting Jak to kill the Marauder. How could he not, when Jak was so clearly close to Dark Jak – if only inside his head, where it mattered the most.

He was _not_ expecting Jak to strike first, without a word or gesture of provocation.

He was _not_ expecting his best friend to tackle the other man to the sand and slit his throat with ruthless efficiency and terrifying disinterest.

This wasn't a kill in the heat of battle – or rage.

This was _murder_. Cold-blooded, tainted, _murder_.

The Marauder didn't have time to do anything but gurgle as one razor-edged claw split his jugular almost dismissively. Jak himself waited only long enough to make sure the man stopped twitching, before calmly standing back up and returning to his horrified, sickened best friend.

The blonde's fingers dripped blood, claws gone once more but the threat of them undeniable. Daxter couldn't remove his gaze for the life of him.

How had he missed this, he wondered. How had he missed his best friend sliding so far back after his first steps forward?

Jak reached him and stood still, making no effort to climb in. Daxter tore his eyes from bloodied fingers to cold, unseeing eyes. Just as he started to wonder if this was it and his life was going to end right here, a burst of white light exploded behind Jak – making him grunt as it shoved him forwards.

Jak shook his head and blinked, his eyes instantly clearing to light blue with dark depths. He looked confused at first, then shocked.

"Is this enough?" Demanded a voice behind them. Jak turned and Daxter craned around his body to see Seem – standing in the desert like an apparition, her white face twisted in anger.

"Is this what it takes for you to understand, _hero_?" Seem's words were vicious, dripping with disgust. "Is murder sufficient to open your eyes, or should I allow you to slaughter your little animal first? Or Sig? Or your _Father_?"

Daxter heardJak swallow, saw the way his hands trembled.

"I've never... not..." He tried to speak, to explain his own confusion and revulsion. His incomprehension at how his Dark had sneaked up on him.

"You _should have listened_!" Seem hissed. "I _warned _you! The Dark eco crystal you carry is _dangerous. Especially_ for you! It is a constant source of Dark, pushing against your mind, feeding your power, eroding your self-control!"

Her expression twisted further, disappointment and disgust and scorn mixing in with her anger.

"Or did you think you were _gaining control_?" She asked scathingly. "_Gaining control _over the very force that corrupted the _sacred_ Precursors! Our own creators! What arrogance is it, to believe yourself wiser and stronger than they!"

Jak bowed his head and Daxter cautiously scaled his arm to sit on his shoulder, one paw resting in blonde hair.

"...What can I do?" Jak whispered. Daxter could feel him shaking under his paws and he felt a sudden surge of sorrow for his friend. Jak hadn't asked for this. And even when Seem had warned them, Jak hadn't been alone in brushing her off – Daxter had dismissed her as well. And when he saw the Dark slowly pulling Jak back in.. he'd just joked it off. He'd been so busy hiding his nervousness, he'd never stopped to wonder what had_ caused _his friend's sudden change in attitude.

Something in Seem's expression softened – just slightly.

"You can't ever escape this, Jak." Seem said quietly. "And the Dark eco.. it will always be ready and willing to be used. It is like an addiction."

"But – but you helped just then!" Daxter blurted. "With the white light voodoo!" His head snapped around to Jak. "And you said – after the vent thing – you felt better. You _acted_ better too.. happier, more relaxed.."

Seem nodded.

"Light eco. Yes. I hit Jak with some, hoping it would trigger a reduction of his Dark just like when the vent opened. But you, Jak – you should know better than to think it would last forever."

Jak nodded, lowering his head.

"I thought.. it had changed me." He admitted. "I felt so different. I thought it was like what Praxis had done. Permanent."

Seem's expression gentled even more. She stepped closer.

"The difference between that and what the Baron did to you, is that you had the ability to wield Light eco _long_ before he ever laid his hands on you – correct?"

Jak looked up, surprised that Seem knew that.

"Your younger self was gifted with many types of eco. Once, he got his hands on some rare Light eco – my monks were quite impressed."

"Once." Jak echoed. "But not anymore. It was burnt out of me – now even Green barely works anymore. I figured White – or Light – would be the same. If not worse."

"Light eco is the reason you survived what Baron Praxis did." Seem refuted. "Your connection was such that you could have become a Sage. Of course, that path is now closed to you – but that doesn't mean the ability is gone."

She looked away. "That said, however, you cannot simply keep 'getting a hit' of Light eco to balance your Dark. As long as you hold that crystal, it is like having access to a constant feed. It erodes your Light and like any addiction, you will feel no _desire_ to balance it again."

She looked back.

"I would simply trade you a Light crystal for it, but I only hold one and it is in use at the moment. Instead, I would advise you to obtain the one within Spargus."

Jak and Daxter blinked. Seem almost smiled at their twin expressions of surprise.

"The Wastelanders have many trinkets they use for trophies or signs of recognition." She explained. "The trophy for the sea-gun is a Light eco crystal. It changes hands often, so I do not know who has it at the moment. I suggest, however, that you find them – quickly, before the eco I have given you wears off – and trade something for it. If nothing else, it will balance the other crystal you carry and allow you to make your own choices – and your own mistakes."

Abruptly, her expression darkened.

"But be warned, Jak: We monks are sworn to defend _against _such beings as you – any person or creature that has been twisted by the Dark. If you do not fix this soon, if you loose control again.. you will not be able to step foot in Spargus or the Wasteland without facing us."

Jak just shook his head.

"If I loose control that badly.." He agreed quietly, eyes flickering to the corpse in the sand.

Marauders were outlaws – anyone could kill them without legal repercussions. But killing someone just because he'd felt like it.. that was too close to Dark Jak. He felt almost physically sick at the stark example of how close he'd come, without even loosing his awareness.

Daxter coughed awkwardly and scratched at one ear with his back paw – an animalistic gesture he only displayed when intensely uncomfortable and running his mouth off wasn't an option.

"Uh.. Damas said you were lookin' for us?" He tried, willing Jak to get with the program and _stop talking _ about how it was totally cool for some randoms to maybe _kill him_ later.

Wine red eyes focused on him for a moment, true serenity returning to them once more.

"...Yes. But not today."

One pale hand lifted and pointed westwards. "When you have obtained the Light eco crystal, go to where the land fragments. Follow the only path up to the temple. I will wait for you there."

Jak and Daxter had turned to follow where she pointed, Jak pinpointing the spire of rock and mentally fixing it's position in relation to Spargus and Haven. When they turned back to the monk, she was gone.

Daxter hunched over on Jak's shoulder, all his fur puffing up as he shivered.

"How does she _do_ that?" He hissed, as both their eyes scanned the sands for sign of a trap door or something similar. Jak's eyes caught a suspicious depression within one of the many nearby boulders, but he didn't mention it to Daxter.

He _did,_ however, fix its location in his mind – just in case he ever needed to enter the underground tunnels again.

"Let's head back, Dax." He said at last, warm desert air brushing away the lingering stench of Dark eco as well as beginning to cover the corpse with sand. "We've got a trophy to win."

**0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0**

American movies have damaged my usage of the word 'sneaked'. 'Snuck' sounds right to my ears and the correct(er) version sounds wrong.

Alas.

:)

I hope you enjoyed the story, even though it didn't have any Jak + Damas duking it out!

Let me know what you think of Ashelin – is her reasoning good enough or is she just fooling herself? Like Father like Daughter after all?

All other thoughts, suggestions and queries are welcome!


	7. Chapter 7

**THIS CHAPTER DEDICATED TO FISHYICON without whom there would **_**be**_** no chapter 7**.

Oh, and for the record: After careful consultation with _**fishyicon**_ and the bits of my brain that cooks this stuff up, I have decided to re-distribute most of the Eco Crystals that Jak finds. Since, to quote Seem: "This isn't a game", then there isn't a need to spread them out in the same way they were.  
They aren't rewards for challenges, they just exist in and are passed around the world like any funky-looking hunk of crystal would be.

Just so nobody with a game-recollection brilliance of _**fishyicon**_ doesn't start to say 'Hang on a tic...'  
:)

_**Warning:**_ This chapter is extremely choppy. Please PLEASE forgive me for it, but if I tried to rewrite it again, it would be another month before you got it at all!

J&D J&D J&D

Kleiver was _not _ happy to see them, his bristly moustache twitching as he glared through the dirty window of his office. Jak just leaned against one of the large man's vehicles and stared right back. The glare became a scowl as the large man stood and exited his tiny office.

"Well, I may not like yew, butchew got skills and no mistake." Kleiver said grudgingly. "Ain't many who could outrace Marauders." The look on his face made it clear that 'racing' covered all manner of sins, including cheating and murder.

Jak didn't react. Behind the anger at loosing his wager, there was an ounce of genuine respect.

"So tubby, we're lookin' for some Eco-crystal trophy. Ya know anything about it?" Daxter piped up, leaning against Jak's head in an identical pose.

Kleiver's look turned ugly.

"...Yeah. I know it. You lookin' to cheat me outta _that_ too?"  
Jak shook his head.  
"Not cheat. Win. What do we have to do?"

Kleiver jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Beat me score on the gun turret. Should be interestin'" He added snidely, already turning back to his office. "After all, no amount of Dark Eco can help yew with _that_."

The door snapped shut, leaving Jak and Daxter alone and on edge.

"...How did he..?" Jak murmured. Daxter shook his head and made a rude gesture after the man. Jak snorted. "Yeah."

Glancing up at the sun, he turned dark blue eyes to his best – and unreasonably loyal – friend.

"C'mon, Dax. Let's go win that trophy."  
"Yeah! And then come back and rub his _face_ in it!"

The two entered the city proper and walked at an easy pace towards the beach. Daxter's voice, loud and unashamed, drifted through the hot air.

"And where the hell is Sig?"

J&D J&D J&D

When they got back to Kleiver's office, the trophy was waiting for them on the desk.

Jak closed a gentle hand over Daxter's face before the smug ottsel could further enrage a man who already had reason enough to hate them.

"I figured yew wouldn't show yer faces again till you got me trophy." Kleiver growled, seated behind the desk facing a battered, ancient computer. "So there it is. Now scram. I ain't got no use for yer."

"But _I_ do." A deeper, more welcome voice replied. Jak turned, nodding a greeting to Sig as Daxter jumped down and swiped the trophy. The ottsel waited until the three of them were alone amongst the vehicles before he shoved the Light Eco crystal into Jak's hand.

Blue eyes slid closed, tension draining away on a long exhalation.

Sig narrowed his eyes, wondering if it was his imagination that the kid looked suddenly... healthier.  
He glanced over at Jak's personal barometer and raised an eyebrow at the blatant relief on the furry little face.

Interesting.

He clapped his hands.

"Well ladies, I hear you're hankering after some artifacts? Damas has set me to show you the ropes, and then we should go visit this lady friend of yours, Jak."

Jak nodded silently, glancing around for the best vehicle, settling on a heavy-duty transport rig with a deep tray.

"Lady friend of _mine_." Daxter stressed, glaring up at the elder Wastelander. "She ain't scratching behind _Jak_'s ears."

"She's not?" Jak asked, head turned to hide his smile. Daxter gaped at him.

"She'd _better not_ be!" He screeched, running on all fours to dive into the cab.

Sig chuckled as light blue eyes flickered over to him, shining with humor.

"Let's get this done, cherries."

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"Daxter, get your damned paws _off_ of Marie-Ellen!"

"Marie Ellen? You called your gun... Marie Ellen?"

"Shut up. And get down!"

"Bye Jak! Try not to miss me too much!"

Jak raised a hand in farewell as Sig gunned the engine and took off back towards Spargus, Daxter clinging to the roof and waving for all his worth.

After a full afternoon hunting for artifacts and dodging the worst of the sandstorm that revealed them, the three of them had found a decent haul. Sig had explained that Spargus kept records of all finds and had dibs on unknown, rare or required items. But that still left a lot of unwanted finds, which by Wastelander law were owned by their finders and could be sold between Wastelanders or through those with Haven connections.

Sig would sort their findings at Spargus and then drop Jak's share off at the Naughty Ottsel with Daxter before moving on to locate and retrieve abandoned gun turrets for Tess.

Privately, Jak suspected that Damas had sent Sig to investigate Tess, unable to trust her discretion on the word of his son alone.

He shook his head sharply and walked briskly up the narrow trail to the Temple. No, if Damas didn't trust him, it was just because he was a newcomer. Nothing more. Certainly nothing to do with the uncomfortable open secret of their relation to each other.

Right?

Jak lifted a hand to rub between his eyes as his mind fought back and forth, dark suspicions and emotions battling more logical understanding. As he reached the doors of the Temple, he slipped a hand into his pouch to touch the two Eco crystals he carried.

It was only now that he carried one of both types that he realised how strongly they affected him. _Both _of them. If the Dark ones made him slide closer to Dark Jak.. what would happen if he threw it away and collected only the Light ones? Could it.. was it possible.. could it cure him?

"Jak."

He looked up. Seem was standing in the open doorway, wine-red eyes studying him. Seconds later, she smiled.

"I am glad to see you obtained the Light Crystal. Your dedication to the safety of others should not go unrewarded. Take this – your need is greater."

Jak reached out for the proffered crystal, only a little surprised when touching it caused his skin to flash white and translucent for a moment. He felt a gentle sensation suffuse him, both cool and warm, eroding a little more of his Dark.

He tucked it away and looked up.

"So, what are we doing?"

Seem tilted her head for him to follow her and walked deeper into the Temple.

"We will investigate the loss of my Monks to the volcano. You have proven to be.. resistant to the hazards of Hora-Quan technology. It pains me to increase your exposure to it, but I have little choice."

"Hence the extra Eco crystal, right?" Jak observed, quick enough to know that it was too valuable to give away for nothing.

Seem, unashamed, nodded.

The two of them entered the main room of the temple, which was open to the sky and towered above them.

"Now we climb." Seem said quietly.

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It took less than ten minutes to climb, leap and lunge to the top of the temple. Jak was surprised to find Seem just as fit and capable as himself, if a little less prone to flashy tricks or capable of the sheer upper body strength it took to flip oneself vertically whilst upside down.

Jak took the opportunity to stretch and, frankly, have a little fun. Seem just ran up and along walls to the many ledges, as efficient and calm about it as she was about anything else.

"Finished playing, Hero?" She asked, as Jak completed a triple-roll and landed on his feet at the top.

Jak flashed her a grin, to which Seem blinked. She cleared her throat and turned away.

"There is only one glider. If you hold onto me, you should-"

"Wait, can't I drive?" Jak interrupted. Seem turned to him, eyes just slightly more narrow.

"I mean, I can do it." He added, almost twitching with anticipation as his eco-enhanced eyes swept the sky and spotted multiple undeployed accelerator rings. "It looks fun."

Seem looked like she didn't quite know whether to frown or smile.

"We're not here to have _fun_, Hero." She said evenly. "Have you ever flown a glider before?"

"No." Jak admitted. "But I really, _really_ want to. Please?"

Her lips twitched.

"...Perhaps on our return." The monk offered. "For now, it is important that we reach the volcano without any... delays. It may be that my monks are still alive and are in need of rescuing."

Jak sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

"...Fine." He agreed. Seem nodded and walked over to the device, lifting the lightweight construction easily.

"...Dax would've let me drive..." He muttered under his breath.

Seem pretended not to hear him.

"Hold onto me, Hero." She instructed, lifting the glider high as Jak ducked underneath and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Watch how it is done." She advised, ignorant of Jak's eye roll. "So that you know the timing."

"Yeah, ye-!"

They fell.

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At the same time, in a heavily-fortified room, Ashelin snapped.

"Don't think I don't know what you're after, Veger." Ashelin snarled. "You're nothing but another power-grubbing worm, one of a dozen slimeballs who don't care who they step on in the process."

Veger, infuriating bastard that he was, just genuinely chuckled.

"Sounds a little like a certain young lady I know." He returned lightly, as though the two of them were simply teasing each other instead of engaged in vicious verbal combat.

The Count had entered without invitation, on the pretext of being a representative of the counsel to observe Ashelin's leadership decisions. He had spent the last twenty minutes making smug or snide insinuations, slowly winding the red headed woman up until she dropped all pretence at civility.

"Tell me, Ashelin – whatever happened to that little Heir the underground was toting around like a mascot, hmm? Once Daddy was out of the way and a strapping young man destroyed your enemies for you, our young Heir to the throne mysteriously vanished."

A smile curled his lips as he raised his precursor scepter – a family heirloom - and inspected the glowing red eco crystal at the top.

"A more suspicious man might begin to wonder just how far the Baron's Apple fell from the tree."

Ashelin was speechless with shock and offence.

"Oh dear." Veger mused. "I seem to have struck a nerve."

Ashelin drew a deep, fortifying breath and tried to take back some control.

"Don't think _I _didn't see how you scrambled to the forefront the _second_ my Father was dead and the city saved." She hissed. "You will _never_ sit on the throne, Veger. promise you. You will never again so much as set _foot_ within the palace."

Veger turned to her. Instead of being enraged – or even irritated – he was just... calm. Almost patronisingly so.

"As you say." He murmured, like an indulgent uncle.

Ashelin's nails bit into her palm as her fists clenched.

"Well, I must be off." He continued, pulling out an ancient clockwork watch and checking the time. "I have a rather more important meeting to attend."

He clicked the watch shut and tucked it away, giving her a mocking salute with his scepter.

"Do take care of your rather embarrassing lapse in security, won't you? Being sole head of Haven's military isn't likely to last very long if you cant even protect people from malfunctioning scraps."

"What do _you_ know about it, Veger?" Torn's gravelly voice cut in as he stepped out of the shadows, eyes narrowed in intense suspicion. Veger shrugged one elegant shoulder.

"It's hardly a secret, is it? Over ten sections of the industrial area have been sealed off. My own people have been writing to me complaining of food shortages because _someone's _soldiers have blocked off the agricultural section without even giving a reason."

He smiled, sharp and unfriendly.

"There are whispers, my dear, that you are using the attacks as an excuse."

"An excuse for _**what**_?" Ashelin barked, sick of Veger's taunts and innuendos.

"Why, for finding the mysterious 'Jak' of course." Veger spoke over his shoulder as he strolled away. "The people are rather simple, and to them Jak is a hero. And oh, he _also _disappeared mysteriously once you took power."

He laughed, quiet and content as the doors opened for and closed after him.

"...I _hate_ that bastard." Ashelin swore. "I hope a hellcat falls on him."

Torn blinked.

"...Was that a subtle order?" He asked, smiling a little. Ashelin looked as though she was seriously considering it before she snorted and smiled a little back.

"No." She grumbled. "But things would be a lot easier if I said 'yes'."

Torn chuckled. "No argument."

All too quickly, he sobered.

"He was right, though. The people aren't going to take the blockade on the agricultural section quietly. They weren't happy when it was shut down for a 'brief security sweep'. Now that it's been barricaded indefinitely..."

"I know." Ashelin said simply. "But what should I tell them? That a small contamination of Metal Head eggs was badly handled by the ground troops and now the whole damned section is infested?"

"Maybe not." Torn conceded. "But we're in real trouble. New Haven has warehouses full of food supplies but rations for the whole city would be tight."

"And the nobles' fists are even tighter." Ashelin muttered. "There's no way they'd permit 'their' food stores be diminished to feed anyone but themselves."

"You're the Governor." Torn reminded her. Ashelin sighed scornfully.

"Yeah, but for how much longer? It's one disaster after another."

"Would any other noble handle it better?"

Ashelin shook her head.

"Well, then. Looks like you've got no choice but to suck it up and soldier on. Ma'am."

Ashelin gave him a small smile and walked over to the window.

They were in the New Haven HQ, a place of both refuge and stress. With the problems within the city escalating rapidly, her presence was almost constantly needed. But it was still a hell of a lot better than fielding nobles at the palace all day.

"...Maybe I _should_ concede to Jak." She murmured. Torn was silent.

"It's just... it feels like another war is coming. And I don't know if I'm the best choice to rule in a war. I don't know if I'm strong enough, If I'd make the right choices."

"And you think Jak would?" Torn asked wryly. Ashelin snorted.

"No. Maybe. I think Jak would _make_ things work out for the best, or else." She shot back "He's tenacious that way."

She shrugged. "It'd be nice..." She said wistfully. "If he wasn't so unstable, then could take care of things like threats and Vegers whilst I took care of the politics and civil economics. You know?"

"Hmm." Torn nodded. "Maybe you two should get married."

Ashelin burst out laughing, head tilted back, vibrant hair spilling over her shoulders.

"Of course!" She chortled. "Perfect solution! Why didn't I think of that?" She grinned at her oldest friend, who carefully hid his own smile.

"At least no-one could accuse you of usurping the throne then." He observed in good humor.

"No." Ashelin agreed. "Just of flashing some ankle in order to marry into power."

"Ankle-flashing." Torn smirked, looking her – and her rather revealing clothes – over. "Right."

Ashelin cocked an eyebrow and leant back against the glass.

"Well, I was planning to visit him anyway." She mused out loud. "See how he is. Bring him some news from home."

"Maybe slip in how you could really use some help?"

Ashelin smiled. "Something like that." She agreed.

"May as well take off now, then." Torn suggested. "It's quiet, for the moment, and you'll need to be well past the border before he'll be able to pick up any comm signal."

Ashelin looked out at the evening sun.

"...Tomorrow." She decided, putting it off again. "I'll drop by the bar first and see if Daxter knows where he's camping out – it'll save me some effort."

Torn opened his mouth to reply but was stalled by an urgent radio transmission. Shrugging, he turned to the console behind him to field the newest crisis.

Ashelin walked back to the center table, which currently displayed a holographic representation of Haven city and all those parts currently under threat.

It was a lot more than most people realised.

An army at her command and all she could think was that they needed _Jak_.

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"I'm hot."

"I know."

Jak grinned. Seem caught it this time and rolled her eyes.

"Very funny." She said dryly. "A little Light Eco and you regress about six years."

Jak chuckled and wiped some more sweat from his face.

They were deep within the Volcano now and – no matter _what_ Seem said – they were _both_ hot.

"Nah." Jak replied, shooting down some flying Metal heads before they could decide to cause trouble. "Six years ago I'd have been sniggering at something _Dax_ said. I didn't talk much, as a kid."

"I know." Seem nodded. "After you saw your mother die, you stopped speaking. Your father was devastated."

Jak stopped dead.

"...What?"

Seem turned. Her mouth opened a little as her eyes seemed to search for an answer. Finally, she bowed her head.

"I apologise. I should have realised... you were very young. I know it myself only from hearsay."

She turned back.

"We should continue."

Jak jumped forward, catching her arm.

"What? No, wait. What were you talking about? What happened to my.. my mother?"

Seem looked down, then laid a gentle hand on his own.

"It is not my place to tell you, Jak. I am sorry to have brought it up." She looked up, locking eyes with him. "You should ask your Father."

She squeezed his hand once, then pulled away.

"Come. We're almost there. I can feel the Dark Energy."

Jak stared after her, switching his gun to 'scatter' and taking out a a swathe of ground enemies on reflex alone.

"Ask my Father. Right. That'll happen." He muttered.

He followed.

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"Oh, Marln."

Seem bowed her head in grief and respect as one hand came up to move slowly in the unspoken language of the monks.

The 'Marln' in question was some poor bastard who was very obviously dead. On his knees, face twisted in an expression of terror and agony, his skin and clothing grey and brittle like deeply burnt wood. Chunks from his legs and sides had already fallen away, no-doubt from contact with the Metal Heads infecting the area.

He was clutching a small, irregular-shaped lidded box. The hands holding it looked like they'd been stripped of flesh before burning, skeletal fingers frozen forever in a compulsive grip.

Behind him, a Dark Satellite lay smugly silent.

Jak didn't need to ask what had killed him. He was too familiar with the many gruesome ways Dark Eco could kill people.

"I'm sorry." He offered, and he genuinely was. Seem obviously cared for her monks as more than just subordinates.

When the white-faced woman reached forward though, he snapped out a hand to stop her.

"Let me handle it." He ordered. On this he wouldn't budge. Whatever the monk was holding in that box was too dangerous to risk Seem's life on.

Seem looked conflicted for a moment before she slowly nodded. He knew she wouldn't like exposing him to even _more_ Dark Eco, but equally she was wise enough to know he stood the best chance of surviving it.

Stepping forward and, coincidentally, in front of Seem, Jak reached for the box.

It fell apart at his touch, flaking away to reveal the Dark Eco Crystal within.

As his hands closed over the deadly jewel it began to glow malevolently. Disrupted by the energy, Marln's body shuddered and collapsed. Ash puffed away and up, carried by the many thermals within the volcano.

Within seconds, nothing but a small pile of charred bones remained.

Jak felt a flicker of anger – at the situation, at this monk's stupidity in touching the satellite in the _first place_...

But he shoved it back as best he could and stuffed the crystal into his bag with the others.

2 vs 2. He could feel the difference, slight though it was.

Seem stepped out from behind him and moved both hands through the air, voice murmuring something that made her hands glow.

With a mild flourish, the light flashed away and Marln's remains sunk into the earth where a prickly, but healthy-looking plant native to this incredibly hot terrain began to grow.

"...There were two others with him." She spoke at length. "Assuming they did not fall to their deaths or were carried away, we should find them somewhere between here and the warp gate back to the temple."

"But the gate there wasn't active." Jak observed.

"Meaning the gate here is damaged or deactivated." Seem agreed. "With some fortune, we will find them there – waiting or attempting repairs."

Seem's hope was clearly fragile and Jak didn't draw attention to the fact.

"Come on." He offered instead, hefting his gun and moving back towards the ladder they'd scaled to get here. "If they're here, we'll find them."

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They found them. Unfortunately, they hadn't made it.

As Seem had speculated, they'd fled to the warp gate – knowing it didn't work but hoping to repair it.

There had been nothing they could do. The gate was off its power stump and lying flat on the ground, a useless circle of ancient metal, held down by the weight of a huge chunk of rock.

The monks had had no chance of lifting it. Alone, surrounded by enemies and with few resources – maybe even injured by whatever had happened with the Dark Satellite – they had died waiting for rescue.

Seem did her mourning thing again and refused his aid in moving the bodies. Somewhat understanding, Jak instead turned his attention to the boulder.

Even _he_, enhanced as he was, couldn't lift it.

...But Dark Jak could.

He snuck a glance over his shoulder at Seem, who had her back to him.

Some small part of his brain tried to get alarmed about his sudden decision but was drowned out by the sudden rush of _hungry_ Eco pressing against his mind.

He _pulled_.

It was too much. His bag glowed deeply as Dark Energy rushed through his every cell, saturating it to the point where it actually _stifled_ the manifestation of Dark Jak.

Just when he thought he was going to explode, or burn out from within like that poor monk, something inside seemed to _click_.

And, abruptly, he was clinging to the edge of sanity as he looked down and failed to see himself.

He was.. a ghost?

No, he could feel his own hand against his chest.

"...I'm invisible?" He asked himself, a little surprised to hear the growl in his voice.

He shot a glance over his shoulder again – surely Seem couldn't have missed that spike of Dark.

If she hadn't, she was doing a good job of pretending she had. Her two monks were laid out together in a small cove on the other side of the room, Seem kneeling at their feet as she prayed.

Deciding not to look a gift Yakkow in the mouth, he turned back to the boulder.

Rolling his shoulders, he concentrated on the strength of Dark Jak. _Come on._ He thought silently. _Not too much. Just enough._

He felt his muscles ripple and he hunched over with pain, barely stifling an agonised grunt. It was slower, this time. It hurt more. Dark Jak was more unstable like this.

He stopped – or tried to – when his vision started flickering purple and white and he found himself absently thinking about killing the woman behind him.

Only half-transformed, mentally unstable and still invisible, he grasped the boulder and rolled it off as quickly as he could, snatching at his dwindling sense of self with desperate focus. The second it was clear of the gate, he thrust his hand into his pocket. For a moment he could have _sworn_ the Dark Eco crystals _moved themselves closer_ to his grasping fingers, as though pulled by a magnet.

Luckily, they were deep within the bag and came up against a pair of angry Light Eco crystals instead.

The twin stones scorched his fingertips and he bit his lip against a howl. This, too, hurt worse than even his first experience with the vent.

The Eco within his body was so much stronger this time. He could see his skin flickering as the power of the Light Eco automatically negated and fought the stronger Dark.

He threw his will behind it, forcing Dark Jak back and away.

Slowly, painfully, his Dark retreated.

Unlike last time, the Light victory didn't leave him feeling refreshed and strong.

He felt used, burned and weary. Hollow inside like he hadn't since Praxis' damned chair.

He swayed a bit, then got down on his knees to inspect the gate. If it stopped him from falling over, well, bonus.

The technology of warp gates were truly ancient. They'd even been around in Sandover. He didn't know if they were Precursor technology or an invention of his infamous ancestor, the original Mar, but they were easy enough to operate.

They came in pairs, the etchings on the outside acting like serial identification. You took a pair with identical etchings and the power stump and you set one up each in the two locations you wanted to be able to travel to. It was that easy.

Well, ok, the underside of the power stump was large and heavy and had to be buried underground so only the small rectangular protrusion showed, but aside from _that_ – it was easy.

The ring bore no sign of damage from the boulder which had presumably knocked it down, so he couldn't put off standing up any longer.

Levering the ring up as a cautionary crutch, he stepped closer to the power stump and braced himself.

At least the weakness was fading. It was unnerving, how wrung-out he felt.

With a heave, he lifted the gate up and into place, the ring almost instantly pulling away from his grip in order to align itself perfectly. There was a low hum, the power stump glowed blue and the ring spun lazily in place.

It was switched on and connected.

Seem appeared at his side. She spared him a nod of perfunctory thanks, before stepping through the gate.

Jak frowned at her lack of gratitude – no doubt due to _how_ he'd done what he had, despite the _fact_ that there was no other way to do it.

He frowned even _more_ at _himself_, recognising his darkening emotional state as a result of the new DE crystal. He preferred the more hyperactive cheerfulness of excess Light Eco, to be honest. How was it that having an even number of crystals left him feeling more Dark than balanced? Then again... _he_ wasn't exactly balanced, was he? His body was hard-wired for the Dark stuff now.

And he didn't even have Daxter at his side to distract and cheer him up, the little Ottsel all but immune to the effects of the Eco and certainly immune to any of Jak's darker emotions or thoughts.

It was a powerful reminder of how much he needed his friend. Without him, even with two light crystals, he wasn't nearly as in control as he liked to believe.

In the mean-time, he'd just have to find more Light Eco Crystals – and fast.

_The idea of just throwing away the Dark Eco Crystals never even occurred to him, nor would it._

He stepped through the gate.

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It was dark on the other side and the air was chilled against his skin. A glance up revealed the surprising fact that night had fallen since they'd left.

Only two torches, burning on either side of the entrance, cast any light. They were more than enough for Jak, who could have seen well with only starlight.

Seem was waiting for him, but off to the side by a cluster of spikes.

Jak frowned a little, but joined her.

"I would ask a favour." Seem began, not quite meeting his eyes. "In the Volcano, you... unlocked... a new Dark Ability."

Jak started. He hadn't thought she'd noticed.

"I should not be encouraging its use." Seem continued quietly. "But this section has been closed to my Monks for an age.. and once more, it seems too coincidental that you alone are the key to its passing."

"Once more?" Jak clarified.

"The vent." Seem explained shortly. "I have come to realise that it was designed for you – and you alone. Dark Eco, Light Eco and the blood of the line of Mar – you possessed all three. Or," She added, sounding a little embarrassed. "You would have. We may have opened the vent too early – you possessed the ability to house both Light and Dark, but in that instance, I provided the Light. I can only hope Aiden's haste – and mine – does not have negative repercussions."

"...I'm sure it'll be fine." Jak muttered, looking over the spiked area with a critical eye. "This Mar guy seems to be pretty on the ball – in a creepy infallible way. And besides, a little extra Light Eco in the world can only help, right? Especially with all these Dark Maker things falling down."

Seem actually looked a little relieved, which was odd for her. Since when had his opinion counted for so much?

He mentally shrugged it off and focused.

Faster and already easier, his body surged with Dark Eco and melted into invisibility. Seem obligingly backed away from the spikes until, with startling speed, they sunk down.

Cautiously, Jak tested one with his foot – he was reasonably sure he'd heal from a ruined foot – he had before.

It failed to react.

He walked forward, every sense ultra-intent on the slightest shift in the air or sound that might hint as a secondary trap. None came.

Within moments he was standing beneath a square opening in the ceiling, where a rounded device glowed softly – clearly the power or command control for the trap.

He shot it six times. Overkill? Nah.

Something small exploded and fell with a shower of sparks. Jak stepped back and forced his invisibility away – it seemed more obliging this time. Almost as if it preferred to lie in wait than be burnt out by the Light Eco Crystals.

But, obviously, Dark Eco _wasn't_ sentient and he _really_ needed to catch some sleep.

Slow footsteps heralded Seem's return, whose usually-serene face was now animated with awe and excitement.

"Can't wait to explore?" Jak observed dryly. Seem smiled – smiled! - at him, but shook her head.

"Alas, I cannot." She glanced back at the temple, eying the shadows cast by the moon. "I have a meeting I cannot be late for."

She turned back. "Thank you, Jak. You have been of even grater aid than I had anticipated."

She saluted him with her monk symbols. "I will not forget." She promised, before walking back to the inner entrance to the temple and slipping inside.

Leaving Jak alone.

Huh. He hadn't expected that.

He rested his gun over his shoulders as he considered the situation.

If he had to, he could probably make it to Haven at a run. In the cold desert night, with most Marauders inactive and the stars to be guided by... he could do it.

He certainly had the inhuman stamina.

But this... like Seem said, it was too great a coincidence. A section of the temple only he could open.

What if Mar had left him something? A message?

A cure?

...He'd just have a quick look.

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"_There_ you are."

Count Veger of Haven. One of the few founding families and therefore raised with an unmatched sense of entitlement and arrogance.

It was galling, to have such a man sneer at _her_ as though _she_ was the inferior.

But she needed him and they both knew it.

"Count Veger. My monks have searched the catacombs beneath the desert." She pre-empted, disinterested in hearing anything he had to say. "Our records are complete. There is no way to access the core from any system save one – Mar's."

"The palace." Veger mused. "It is as I suspected. Mar was such a greedy man."

Seem stiffened slightly at the slight against a man whose foresight and generosity was the sole reason their species had weathered the Hora-Quan Invasion of 500 years.

"The palace was built as a fortress to protect the entrance." She countered firmly. "And it will not be easy to breach the protections he will have put into place."

"Oh I beg to differ." Veger chuckled.

Seem frowned.

"He will have more than petty walls and locks." She warned. "Brute force alone will be insufficient."

Veger eyed her consideringly. "Very well." He hummed. "I concede to your.. expertise. Send one of your monks to me."

Seem nodded slowly.

"It would be best-" She began, only to be cut off by a sharp swipe of Veger's scepter. It missed her head by inches.

"It would be _best_ if **you** listened to your _betters_." Veger hissed. "My family was entrusted with this relic for this very moment in history – for this very purpose! _**I **_am the one who must travel to the center of the planet and activate the precursor weapon. _I_ am the one who is to save our world and replace Mar's decayed and broken line with my own."

Seem stepped back.

"You may be the one to activate the weapon." She stated, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "But Mar's line is neither decayed nor broken. If you would seek to go against his wisdom, your folly shall be your undoing."

She turned and walked away, ignoring the snarling man behind her.

"I will send you two monks." She called. "The daystar approaches, we do not have time for either of our prides to prevent us from activating the weapon."

_"I can only pray that this too is part of Mar's plan." _Shesaid under her breath.

Neither of them noticed Mar's descendant, watching them from above with narrowed, icy blue eyes.

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Jak watched as 'Count Veger' left before he moved back from the edge himself.

"Son of a _Yakkow_." He hissed, hands clenching.

An ancient precursor weapon beneath the ground. Seem knew about it but hadn't told anyone – hadn't told _Damas!_ Instead, she ran to some Havenite scumbag who _oozed_ untrustworthy.

Jak knew bastards when he saw them and this Veger guy was one Grade A prostitute-his-own-mother _bastard_.

So why? _Why_?

The scepter? Something Veger claimed was entrusted to his family for this sole purpose, and Seem apparently believed the same thing.

He didn't buy it. This was the same Mar who showed the uncanny knowledge of the future that enabled him to build the shield walls, establish a desert base and dig a maze of tunnels and eco-vents. The same Mar who knew something like himself would one day exist, and cared enough to build at least two devices that could only be accessed by him.

Surely, then.. he'd have to know what kind of men Veger's family would turn out. He'd know better than to entrust the key to their world's defence to the whims of a greedy aristocrat.

Of course, the guy could hardly be infallible. No-one was, not even the Precursors, according to Seem...

So maybe... maybe the original Count Veger was a good guy. A trusted friend. And Mar had trusted in his line.

And maybe Seem just had to deal with that, and hadn't told anybody because Damas would have the guy killed – he knew that much. His Father was nothing if not ruthless. But if Veger really _was_ the only one who could activate the weapon...

His anger abated, Jak sighed and slouched.

"Shit." He decided.

He turned and looked up at the massive Precursor statue looming over him like a God.

"What am I supposed to do?" He asked it.

Its eyes cracked open.

He stared.

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Damas rubbed his eyes, glad that the planning room off the throne room was utterly without windows.

Sometimes, all that powerful light just got a little much.

He was supposed to be making the final decision on the placement of men and portable rail guns along Spargus' borders – the monks had not been hesitant to lay out the wave of destruction coming towards them – but instead he found himself leaning over an old map of Haven.

A map he hadn't looked at in almost five years.

But he was looking now. Reports coming in from other spies within the corrupt city had been alarming. The Hora-Quan had already gained a foothold in one of the most vital areas – without complete control of the agricultural section, the city could not function during any kind of siege. The infestation of Metal Heads right in their weakest point seemed unlikely to be bad luck alone.

Someone was trying to cripple the city. Someone _wanted_ it to fall.

He could be sure it wasn't Jak, of course. Though his boy – _the_ boy – held no love for the city that had turned him into an Eco-twisted living weapon, he wasn't subtle about it either. If Jak decided Haven city should burn for what it had done, Jak himself would strike the matches.

But Jak had been kept very busy with Sig and the Monks. There could be no fingers pointed at a disgruntled heir to the throne, he'd made sure of that.

Of course, if his son _was_ somehow responsible.. well. Call him bitter, but he just wasn't sure he could manage to care. Haven was too old, too festering a wound for him to think clearly about.

It was probably best that he didn't think on it at all.

He closed the map, willing away thoughts on suspiciously organised 'random' attacks by rouge Krimzon Deathbots. Ignored the glaring fact that the machines weren't sentient and could only obey _someone's_ orders.

Tried to forget that not _everyone_ in the city was a conspirer or a traitor. Tried to forget that there would be, at very least, women and children civilian casualties.

It was difficult, but then – Damas had years of practice at forgetting harsh truths.

As he left the room, however, he couldn't help but wonder... What _would_ Jak think of this, if he knew? Would he, like his Father, harbour some small sense of satisfaction? Or would he, also like his Father, feel an inexplicable – if small – sense of grief at the idea Haven falling for good?

Jak was a focused, determined, intelligent, quick-thinking and loyal young man. All the things Damas had been in his youth. He hadn't raised his – the – boy. How was it that it simply made all of his familiar attributes seem even stronger?

He seemed to have his mother's tenacity too, her sheer inner strength that let her stand against the world no matter what it threw at her.

Sig's reports weren't enough anymore. They made him restless. He wanted to _see_ for himself, to _know_...

To know. He wanted to know his son. His _son_, who he should never have allowed to be so distant from him.

The pain of his child's loss was now accompanied by the pain of how badly he was handling his second chance.

For years, he had toyed with the fear of his son being _dead_, his little body dumped into the ocean to rot. Against the odds, he was alive! Different, older and with the sharp edge that only a hard life could cause, but _alive_!

He stepped into the throne room, the last ghost of sunset barely lighting it up. It was at this time, with the constant flow of water, that the room was the most peaceful. Often had he imagined his little boy sitting with his feet in the water, amusing himself as his Father dealt with the day's duties before joining him to play, or to teach the things he'd need to know as heir.

Now his mind's eye painted a different picture. Jak, green hair turned blonde with sun, checking over his weapon as he bantered with Sig, traded insults with Kleiver and laughed with his little animal friend. Maybe he'd be sitting with his feet in the water or maybe he'd be tucked behind a pillar for some precious peace.

Maybe... maybe he'd be seated by the throne, on a chair or the floor or even the throne's armrest... comfortable with his position in Spargus, his status as heir... with his Father, the King.

More than a warrior. More than an heir.

Damas' son.

He drew a deep breath and shook his head, moving to his sleeping quarters to try and catch some rest before the day dawned in full.

If he wanted that future to become reality, he would have to work for it. Just as he had worked for everything else.

And he could think of little else that he had ever wanted more.

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Le GASP!

There's a whole bunch of stuff I slaved over but.. somehow... it just didn't fit!

I hope this chapter was enjoyable to you – if there was something you were/are hoping for, please don't be silent! Let me know! I hate getting an update only to be all sad that something I expected didn't come to be...

My apologies again for the slightly choppy nature of this chapter. You can tell it fought me every step of the way, right?

As always, thank you for reviewing – you guys are the reason this fic gets posted and no others!


	8. Chapter 8

So there's been some confusion over the location of Spargus and the Wasteland. I could never seem to find conclusive evidence one way or the other – in Jak 2, the Wasteland was literally that space beyond Haven city. You could walk out past the shield wall and there it was. Bam. Also, in Jak 3, Damas smashes into the ruins of the palace in a ground vehicle which could not have fit in the standard hover vehicles we've seen thus far.

However, upon advice from _**fishyicon **_and _**Kitsuna**_, I've found a Jak 3 map that _proves_ the particular part of the Wasteland where Damas lives is, in fact, an island.

Bugger.

I came up with a big explanation involving tidal islands and sand bars and the reason the baron never just sent people to _bomb_ the island he knew the Wastelanders were on but it kept feeling clunky like an ill-fitting puzzle piece, so in the end I put all that stuff aside and just had Jak catch a darn ship in.

(pouts)

Also, for the record, _**Kitsuna**_ is my one true (unrequited) love. Because of the long pauses between chapters, a lot of her awesomeness goes unmentioned and it would be remiss of me to allow that to continue.

And so: **Behold**

http : / ihaveachair . Deviantart .com/art/His-Love-Will-Conquer-189924247

http : / ihaveachair . Deviantart .com/art/Gotta-Love-185122157

http : / ihaveachair . Deviantart .com/art/The-Chair-Was-A-Long-Time-Ago-184948805

This girl makes me look bad in so many ways. Her drawing skills are obscenely better than my writing skills AND she knocks out these masterpieces within days of requests/inspiration/blatant begging.

Actually, come to think of it, there's a good chance that underneath her cheerful generosity lurks a manipulative mastermind who gives such gifts in order to twist me under her thumb, like a loan shark who offers extensions with a smile and comes to collect just when you really _need_ your kneecaps.

Anyway, she has a _lot_ more awesome stuff, both J&D related and not, so please take a look!

Thank you Kitsy! I love you _and_ your emotional thumbscrews!

**Note**: Had a very annoying block for a few tiny little bit of this, then one day – BAM. Block gone! Sometimes, I think you just need to wait for your subconscious to work its own way out.  
_Also went back and fixed a couple of annoying little errors in earlier chapters. Nothing big._

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"_Citizens are advised that a state of emergency has been declared. For your security, all citizens residing in the Market, Stadium or Old Haven zones are required to remain in your homes until further notice. Failure to comply will result in seizure of persons and/or heavy fines. Please heed the instructions of Freedom League officers as they-"_

Bolt scowled as the announcement droned on in the background. The Governor had chosen some lobotomised-sounding woman to give her announcements, but the message was the same: Do as I say, or else.

And, as he was currently in the process of disobeying, it would be good to _not get caught_.

"I'm just _sayin'_, it's important to have brand recognition!" A slightly nasally voice rose up behind him, not _quite_ loudly but louder than Bolt considered safe considering the whole _law-breaking thing_.

"We are _not_ billing ourselves as '_Pike and the Twins_'!" A girl's voice hissed back, more quietly but with a sense that things could become _un-_quiet very quickly if provoked.

"Chya! It sounds like, you know, a euphemism." Another, identical voice agreed and Bolt turned to tell them to shut the hell up just in time to catch the second girl wave her hand at about pelvis level.

"What are you-oh, _gross_, Berry!" The other boy replied, face twisting. "I swear, you girls are more disgusting than us guys, any day."

"No, we're just _smarter_!" Snapped back not!Berry.

"_Shut __**up**__!" _Bolt hissed, waving both hands sharply downwards as if he could silence them through a hitherto-undiscovered superpower. "You're gonna get us _caught_!"

The twins shoved past their elder brother and came to stand next to him, peering around the corner at the Hellcat that was lazily cruising along at Pedestrian level. The cockpit was closed.

"Am I the only sane person here when I'm thinking we're better off being caught _now_ rather than _later_?" maybe!Leaf asked bitterly.

"This is our big break!" Pike insisted, wriggling forwards so his head stuck out between them. "A little danger is a small price to pay."

The twins exchanged a look, then each stabbed a long-nailed finger into the meat of his collarbone from either side, causing their brother to flinch back with a startled curse.

"We're knowingly playing for Jak." maybe!Berry said flatly. "_The_ Jak."

Pike scowled. "You be dissin' The Jak?" He demanded, rubbing his neck. Like Bolt – like _most _guys his age – he had a little man-crush on him.

The twins rolled their eyes.

"No, we're not 'dissin The Jak'" probably!Leaf replied, deepening her voice mockingly.

"We're just reasonably pointing out that _maybe_ playing for a _known fugitive_ might be _**bad idea**_!" Her twin picked up seamlessly.

Bolt scowled. "He's not a _fugitive_ anymore." he disputed. "He hangs around the Hip H- I mean, the Naughty Ottsel completely openly. There aren't any posters up or announcements or anything. And the governor gave all the Underground dudes an official pardon and thanks and everything. We'll be _fine_."

The twins' expressions merely darkened. It was no secret how much they distrusted the word of Governor Ashelin.

"Besides," Bolt lightened his tone as he watched the Hellcat move off. "I think 'Pike and the Pikelets' works _much_ better."

The distraction worked. The ugly look on the girls' faces softened into normal glares and Bolt darted to the next piece of cover before they could slap the back of his head.

"We're not breakfast food either." One of them muttered as the three siblings followed him into the shadow of the broken billboard. The twins each had an electric guitar slung over their shoulders and were carrying amps in their arms. Pike, had a huge drum strapped to his back, two collapsible drums folded down and strapped to both hips, cymbals peeking out from beneath his shirt and miscellaneous metal stands, sticks and pedals duct-taped to the side of the big drum.

He was one massive lumbering target, slow-moving and the most likely of them all to get spotted.

Obviously, as his best friend, Bolt had refused the offer to carry anything.

"'Fish-face and the Twins'?" He suggested, grinning at his puffing, sweat-dampened friend. The twins giggled.

"Funny." Pike deadpanned.

"We're almost there." Bolt said consolingly. They were at the edge of the Slums and facing one of the tiny alleyways the KG never bothered with. They'd have to be careful, but for the most part they could sneak through the industrial area easier than the slums. Junk wasn't allowed to pile up in 'Old Haven', the old Baron had been too paranoid about people rising up against him so laws were stricter there.

But Industry was chaos and chaos was messy.

Once they were in the Industrial area, it was clear sailing.

"**Halt, citizens!**"

..._Dammit!_

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_The statue's eyes cracked open._

"_Welcome, Hero. It is good, to see you again."_

"Thanks." Jak murmured, more from habit than anything else. He glanced around and stepped closer.

"You're... an Oracle?"

_"In a manner of speaking. We are the voices of the Oracles. We are the Precursors."_

"Holy shit." Jak muttered, rolling his shoulders and feeling keenly the absence of Daxter's wisecracking. His friend could make even something as momentous as _meeting your creators_ into a lighthearted joke.

"_We have watched over you your entire life, Hero. Every favour we have asked of you, every reward given, was all intended to prepare you for this time. For the coming of the Hora-Quan's masters - the Dark Makers."_

Jak didn't know how to feel about that. Daxter might make a crack about creepy perving Precursors, but all Jak could think of was: They _knew_? Knew what would happen to him? Knew what Praxis would _do_ to him? They would allow Jak to suffer that, the pain and the loss and the corruption of his very being, simply because it suited their purposes?

He said nothing.

As if reading his mind – and perhaps they could – the voice continued.

_"We regret the path you have had to take, Hero. We had no choice but to trust your strength – and the strength of your closest companions – to see you through it. You were born gifted, but gifted is not enough in the face of our enemies."_

"So, you figured it would be better if I got me some of that evil taint you hate so much? Jak asked bitterly. "'Fight fire with fire' with the added bonus of not having to get your own hands dirty?"

"_No." _The statue rumbled. _"We needed a Hero to do what we – physically – can not. We needed a Hero who could become the balance between Dark and Light, who could wield both in the defence of life. And you are **not** tainted." _The voice became stern. _"For Dark Eco is **not** inherently evil – it is a natural part of life, though dangerous and deadly to many within it. It can never be – **should** never be – eradicated. But in the hands of the corrupt, it is a powerful weapon."_

"Bullshit." Jak said coldly. "I have this shit in my _head_, all the time. I know what it's like. It _is_ evil. It _is_ corrupting. I'm walking a knife edge every day not to fall in – something I tend to fail at, by the way."

"_Dark Eco is violence."_ The statue replied implacably. _"It is murder. It is hunger. It is blood lust and frenzy and madness. But it is **not** evil. Without a balance of Light within you, it is normal to fall prey to the nature of Dark Eco – the fact that you can and do fight it is testimony to your own incredible strength – something we admire greatly."_

Jak looked away, both unwilling to hear it and undeniably hopeful. This was a Precursor telling him he wasn't evil – absolving him the crimes he had committed.

Jak couldn't quite absolve himself, but he'd be a liar if he said this didn't help.

"_There is a weapon on this world." _The statue continued after a pause, when Jak didn't say anything. _"One designed to be the ultimate defence, requiring the cooperation of both Dark and Light to preserve the planet in which they reside. In ages past, the keys were kept by men and women of particular strength and attunement. Now, they are little more than trinkets, easily acquired. You yourself already hold four of the six."_

Unbidden, Jak's hand brushed against his hip bag. They were keys?

"_We need you to find them all, Hero – and bring them to the core of this world where the weapon lies. The key is required, but it can only be activated by you."_

Jak opened his mouth to reply and then frowned as a different thought occurred to him.

"This is the weapon that Veger guy was looking for, isn't it?" He asked suddenly. "The one he's getting Seem to help him find?"

The statue didn't reply. Jak narrowed his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell Seem what you're telling me now?" He demanded.

After a long pause – so long that Jak thought the Precursors would refuse to answer – the statue spoke again.

"_We are... restricted... in those to whom we may speak." _The words were cautious and very unexpected. _"It is our way to allow our children to grow and develop however they choose – even if that means they must make their own, terrible mistakes. You are the exception, Hero."_

Before Jak could reply, the eyes opened wider and a heavy spray of light dropped from above, lifting him up into the air with a shivering hum that spoke of pure Light Eco.

"_For now, allow us to aid you as we can." _The voice continued, though it seemed very far away. Jak closed his eyes and melted into the uninhibited warmth of the life-giving Light Eco.

Sooner than he'd have liked, the light flickered and died, dropping Jak gently back to his feet.

Without another word, the eyes of the Oracle closed. The Precursors apparently done with him for now.

Jak stared up for a moment, unable to stop himself from thanking them – if only in his head. Once again he felt... _better_. The Darkness a little less in control.

He focused on the light within and pulled, eager to see what would happen.

With a shock of blue-white light, he vanished from the room.

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It was raining in Haven, the sweltering air of the desert meeting the ocean's chill with thundering results.

Jak, stepping out of the transport outside the city, (the pilot having been warned off entering the city by central control) was somewhat surprised to see that the gateway connecting Haven and the desert was locked down. A hastily-painted sign had been hung, warning off all Wastelanders.

It was hardly the only entrance and Sig – having worked as Krew's muscle – would know more of them than Jak, but Jak didn't exactly need to.

A flicker of Dark and he was crouching by the wall, claws flexing in anticipation. One powerful leap - claws finding purchase by punching into the wall - then another and he was over the wall, landing without pain on the other side as thunder crackled above.

A man whimpered at his appearance and ducked away down the closest alley. Jak ignored him and walked swiftly towards the Industrial zone, Dark Jak fading from him with every step.

The streets were eerily empty, even for a rainy day. A Krimzon scout-bot scuttled out of a drain and was immediately crushed underfoot. A blue hellcat cruised lazily overhead and Jak ducked out of sight through habit alone. Almost all windows were clumsily boarded up and he could have sworn he saw the occasional face peering nervously out as he passed.

What was going on?

The next surprise was a temporary Eco-powered barrier preventing him from entering the Industrial zone. Adapted from the old 'security zones' of baron Praxis' reign, these barriers had been adjusted to disallow anything from getting through.

Again, not much of a hindrance to Jak, who - even in non-enhanced form - was stronger and fitter than any normal Havenite. It was child's play to scale the mess of plumbing nearby and run along the roofs instead.

From his new vantage point, he could see at least three more of the barriers placed throughout the Industrial sector. Were they containing something? Fall-back points? He turned and looked out over the rest of the city, seeing a veritable swarm of hellcats over New Haven and a handful cycling between there, the Stadium and the Palace - but almost no civilian traffic at all. He tilted his ears and picked up the sounds of armored feet tromping down several streets nearby.

"What the hell, Ashelin?" He muttered. "I leave for a week and you impose martial law?"

Sticking to the rooftops, he drew on some Light and blurred away.

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The Port was... crowded. Like all the people missing from the streets had decided to hang out there instead of at home.

Most of them huddled together under the sparse eaves of buildings or office overhangs to avoid the rain. Some, who either worked in or knew somebody who worked in the port were tucked away inside the warehouses – Jak caught a glimpse of an entire family being herded in to a room already full of people and ammunition cases.

After a little while, he noticed that _they_ were watching _him_ too. The people huddled outside were following him with wide eyes, whispering to each other. The rain drowned out their words unless he focused – which he did.

Most of it seemed to be speculation. Could he Jak? _The_ Jak? Someone's cousin had said he had blonde hair... but wasn't it long blonde? Or was it blue? He had a gun, though, and he didn't look like a Wastelander. He was walking through the rain like it was nothing. He looked strong. His arms were muscled. His ass was hot.

Jak flushed red and stopped listening in. He picked up the pace, too.

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The Naughty Ottsel stood out in the gloom like a beacon of refuge. Daxter's illuminated self cast a cheerful orange glow on an otherwise bleak world.

There were people huddled _here_ too. Jak wondered briefly why they didn't just go inside, before he stepped inside himself and stopped dead.

The place was _packed_. Every booth was full, people had spread blankets on the floor to sit on – leaving a narrow, circular aisle for people to walk through – and even the square in the middle was filled with children. After a moment, he guessed it was used as a kind of playpen. Somewhere their parents could leave them that was within eyeshot but not underfoot.

A couple of toddlers were playing with metal blocks, some other children were huddled around a slightly older one who was reading slowly to them, sounding out the words at times and just making them up at others. Some were curled up sleeping and still more just sat quietly, watching the adults around them.

Despite the warmth and the mass of people... the mood was far from cheery.

Keira was behind the bar, but she hadn't noticed Jak yet. It looked like she was struggling to fill orders, not being very familiar with the place yet.

"Jakky-boy. Over here."

Jak turned to the right. In the booth closest to the door, Jinx sat looking more weary than Jak had ever seen him. With a nod, he dismissed the two men and one woman who had been seated with him. They filed past Jak with curious, respectful eyes and exited the bar.

"Take a seat." Jinx invited. Jak did so, feeling a bit uneasy at having almost an entire booth to himself when everyone else was so crowded.

Jinx seemed to read his face because he nodded.

"Don' worry about it. We're just having a quick chat before I gotta get back to work." he dismissed. "'Sides, I'm thinkin' they'd be too damned nervous to sit with _you_, huh?"

His hand moved towards his face before stalling and dropping back down to tap agitatedly on the table.

"What's going on, Jinx?" Jak asked, glancing around again. "Did Tess lower the alcohol serving age?"

Jinx snorted, his lips turning up just a little.

"We should be so lucky. Naw, Jakky-boy. These people are here 'cause they can afford to buy somethin'. For now. That Tess girl is a sweetheart, but she don't have the resources to feed these people for free."

Jak frowned, catching another aborted movement from the older blonde man.

"Jinx. What's happened?"

Jinx's restless tapping grew worse as he glanced up at Jak and shrugged.

"What _hasn't_ happened, buddy-boy? That bitch, Ashelin, has cut off the damned Agri-sector. All the farmers have lost their jobs without any kind of compensation. Then her tools in the shiny blue suits started lockin' off the Industrial section, one bit at a time."

"To deal with the Deathbots?" Jak was glad she was taking action – that swarm was dangerous.

Jinx spat.

"So they say." He said scornfully. "But the only time _I _ever saw them shootin' was when the metal bastards got too close to the guards." He leaned forwards, eyes narrow and intense. "They ain't huntin' 'm down, Jak, they're just _containin_' 'em."

Jak felt his own expression darken.

"Why? What the hell does she have to gain from that?" He asked, half of Jinx and half to himself.

Jinx shrugged again and leant back, his hand twitching upwards once more.

"Boned if I know, Jakky. But a lot of people are scared. More than a few have already died. The people you see here in the Port came looking for food or protection and then those damned barricades were set up, the guards here left and now they can't get back home. Even more are _trapped_ in their homes and those poor bastards in the slums ain't gettin' off light either. They may not have Metal Heads chompin' on their toes yet, but they ain't got much in the way of supplies either. 'Cept fear, 'o course. They sure got plenny of _that._"

"So where the hell are the guards?" Jak bit out.

"New Haven, boyo, where else?" Jinx asked snidely. "Gotta keep them silks well-protected after all. No point us normal people living if there ain't nobody left to give us orders."

His hand twitched again and he swore viciously.

"Freakin' blue-haired bint." He mumbled. "Took me damn smokes off'a me, causa those dumb kids everywhere."

Jak kicked his leg, none-too-gently, eliciting a yelp.

"That 'bint' is Keira, and she's my friend." He informed him coolly. "And she's right. Bad enough these kids have to breathe Haven air – they shouldn't have to get locked in a room with your smoke as well."

Jinx scowled and rubbed his leg. "Yeah, yeah. I know. Still. Freakin' nicotine craving on toppa everything else..."

Jak sighed and sat back. If nicotine withdrawal was anything like Eco withdrawal, he could understand.

"...I don't like the way this is heading." He said finally, blue eyes taking in the worried expressions on every face in the building. Some men were nursing their drinks like finishing them would be the end of the world and more than one woman was moving from group to group, trying to buy or trade for food and blankets for their families.

"A lot of bad stuff is coming, and the people should be Ashelin's first priority. I don't know why she's stalling like she is and right now, I don't care."

He turned back to Jinx, who was watching him with something that almost looked like hope.

"I think we need to get organised." He said, leaning in slightly, a move which Jinx mirrored instantly.

"People are running to the Port for a reason – we have warehouses full of supplies and only two defensible entry points. Ashelin has blocked up the Agricultural route, so that just leaves the Industrial and Market entrance."

He paused, gathering his thoughts. His mind turned towards Tess and her defensive gun turrets. Spargus' farm was a priority, but so were these people. Both were supposed to be under the protection of the House of Mar.

The people here didn't need as much, though. It should work out.

Hopefully.

"We can lash the barges together to make more floorspace." He said decisively. "Set up some tents or use the tarps in warehouse three to make it weather-proof and then start moving people in. I can get my hands on some defensive turrets and if you know where to find any – bring 'em in too. We can probably dismantle and steal a couple of barriers as well, if we need them."

He locked eyes with the demolitions expert. Jinx _knew_ people, he was a familiar face in both the working world _and_ the criminal underground.

"Do you think you could find some volunteers to help out? It'd be useful if they could shoot, but we'll need organisers, runners and workers too."

Jinx grinned widely.

"I reckon' I can do that." He said confidently. "A lot of people want to do _something_, they just don't know what. I'll rustle up some men to get started on the defences 'n send a couple of women your way to do inventory 'n all that numbers shit."

He stood and Jak stood with him, both of them feeling a bit better now that they had a plan.

Jinx clapped him on the shoulder, holding on for a second and shaking him lightly.

"Thanks, Jakky-boy. I'm glad _someone_ in this cesspit is thinkin' about us civilians."

Jak nodded and watched him leave, the other man apparently so enthusiastic about his task that he completely forgot to ask for his smokes back.

Jak smiled and turned back to the bar just as Keira glanced up. When their eyes met, she offered him a weary smile, elbows-deep in suds as she washed the bar's few selection of glasses. It was doubtful the place had ever seen this level of business, even when it was the Hip Hog.

As he picked his way around the people on the ground, Jak felt eyes following him. His back itched and his muscles shifted restlessly but he didn't turn around. These people were just as likely to be eying up an armed and potentially dangerous man as an ex-fugitive and rebel.

He reached the bar and offered a small smile to his old friend. There was no way she'd been expecting this when she signed on. And here he was about to add to it.

"Hey." He greeted.

"Hey." Keira returned lightly, exhaustion in the curve of her shoulders and half-lidded eyes. How long had she been up, unable to sleep just as she was unable to kick these people out to get some?

"Listen, Keira; I need your help." Jak said frankly, getting the girl's resigned attention. "Jinx is gonna find some people to help us sort this mess out, but I need your link with these guys here."

'These guys' being the civilians, the farmers, the shopkeepers and clerks who would be little more than a liability if armed and put on defence. Not to mention the children.

"We need to get them organised." He continued. "We need to know how many there are, what their specialties or abilities are, if they're willing to volunteer to help out or if they need to be considered non-combatants." He paused, hearing footsteps edge close enough to be considered in his personal space. Keira's eyes flickered over his shoulder but she didn't look alarmed so Jak contented himself with turning his head and raising an eyebrow.

Behind him stood a older man and woman – married, most likely – dressed in the simple hard-wearing clothes of farmers. Both looked a little nervous but that nervousness was met equally with determination.

"Pardon us for interrupting, Sir." The man began, one hand brushing his head like he was used to taking off a hat. "But we couldn't 'elp overhearing you talking with that man earlier and, well…"

"We want to help." The woman interrupted firmly. "It's downright shameful, seein' all these people dispossessed and the little ones hungry and homeless. Now, my Bo and I aren't fighters, Precursors know, but we're hard-working and dependable."

The man – Bo – wrapped an arm around his wife's shoulders and squeezed gently, the habit of a lifetime of calming her down. The woman subsided, looking a little flustered at her own assertiveness but not the slightest bit ashamed of it.

"And we were listening, begging your pardon, to your conversation with this kind young lady here." Bo continued, nodding respectfully at Keira. "And we're thinking that this is something we can really help you with. We know most of the people hereabouts and we aren't shy about meeting new ones. Also, we're thinking it's quite a large job for just one person, and-"

Jak couldn't help himself. He chuckled, low and quiet and held up a hand to which Bo shut up at rather quickly.

"There's no need to say anything more. You sound perfect." He said, amused and sincere. "Thank you, for volunteering. I'm Jak, by the way – and this is Keira."

Small, relieved smiles blossomed on both farmer's faces as a bit of tension left their bodies. They both offered their hands and shook with Jak and – after she wiped her hands on a towel – Keira.

"A pleasure." The man nodded. "As you heard, I'm Bo and this is my stunning wife, Flo."

"Bo and Flo?" Keira asked, an impish smile lighting up tired eyes. The couple gave the patient smile of people who had had this conversation a million times before.

"We got on quite well from the moment we met." Flo explained briskly. "And when we eventually thought to ask each others' names – well, it just seemed like fate!"

"That, or the Precursors having a laugh." Bo chimed in, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. Flo rolled her eyes but didn't contest it.

"Yes, well…" Jak nodded and steered them back on topic. Besides, he'd just come from a meeting with said Precursors and wasn't interested in speculating on their potential for mischief, malicious or otherwise. Bo and Flo sobered instantly, focused on him with heartfelt determination.

"We'll need accurate records of every person in the Port, broken into civilians and volunteers, with the volunteers further broken into which area they're volunteering for – defence or general duties." Jak spoke with a measured tone, organizing his thoughts as he went. Flo fished out a small notepad with a pencil attached by a string and began taking notes.

"All volunteers need a note made of their talents or specialties – no matter what it is. We also need an accounting of people who have family trapped outside – where they're located, _especially _if they're in the industrial section and need rescuing."

Bo nodded sharply, clearly approving of Jak's priorities.

"I'll get Jinx's people to make an accurate itinerary of our supplies and once that's done we'll be able to start moving people around so they can settle in. In the mean time, send any people with mechanical experience directly to the bar, we'll need them right away."

"I think I saw an old blackboard in the storage room." Keira volunteered. "It probably used to be where the mirror is. We could use that to help keep track of our overall numbers."

Flo looked relieved so Jak nodded.

"Alright, I think that's it for now – any thoughts?" He glanced from person to person and then nodded again when no-one had anything to add. "Okay. Thanks again, Bo, Flo. I'll be moving around a lot, but Keira can contact me if you need anything."

The couple nodded and Keira ducked under the bar for a moment, emerging with two battered umbrellas, another notepad and a chewed pencil.

"Here." She offered them across the bar. "You'll need these."

Bo and Flo took them gratefully – the rain really was _not_ healthy, let alone hindering to their need to write things down – and left. Bo looked like he wanted to say something else before his wife tugged him away.

Jak turned back to Keira, who looked a little brighter.

"It's nice." She said softly. "Not to be… you know."

"Standing alone against the tide?" Jak asked knowingly. "…Yeah. I'm just recently finding that out myself."

He wanted to ask her when the last time she'd slept was, to offer to watch the bar whilst she napped – but there just wasn't time. Keira was tough and she was one of the few Jak knew he could trust. She just needed to hang on for a little while longer.

"Daxter?" He asked.

"With Tess." Came the expected reply. "Warehouse six. Sig's with them."

Jak nodded, glad to hear the blockades hadn't given them any trouble, and left.

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Warehouse six was a mess. The boxes of artifacts that Sig had delivered in payment to Tess were shoved in a corner. Bits of machinery fairly littered them and the ground around them, several hunks of half-stripped turrets arranged in some mystical formation that made sense only to a mechanic of Tess' caliber and open boxes of miscellaneous parts were scattered randomly.

In the midst of it all, Tess sat on her knees, crying.

Daxter was petting her arm, her hair, crooning something reassuring and not even noticing the grease and oil he was picking up in the process. Tess, face buried in her hands, didn't look up at Jak's entrance. Daxter did and promptly shot him a silent '_Help me!' _look.

Jak jogged over, stepping awkwardly to avoid damaging anything and knelt down next to the distraught woman.

"Tess." He breathed, concerned. "What's going on? Are you alright?"

"No!" Tess cried, voice trembling and sharp. "I'm _pissed off_!"

Jak blinked.

_Okay._ That pretty much eliminated all of his understanding of women in tears. He glanced over at Daxter who just shrugged vigorously back with a 'how the hell should _I _know?' look.

He glanced around in a half-serious bid for help from Sig, but the big guy was nowhere to be seen.

Typical. Massive segmented Metal Head out to kill you and the guy had your back. One crying woman and he was _outta _there.

Jak hesitated, then attempted a reassuring pat on the back. It garnered a wet snort, which was better than tears, he supposed.

Tess lifted her face, rubbing at her tear-streaked cheeks with grimy hands and fairly coating her skin in smears and smudges of oil.

"You guys are such sissies." She stated, clearing her throat roughly. "It's a good thing I'm angry and not sad."

"…Riiiight." Daxter agreed obligingly. "Good thing. Yeah. Jak's hopeless with women. Always has been."

Jak swatted him and ducked a bit to look Tess in the eye.

"Tess. What happened?" His voice demanded an answer, insisted on the truth. If someone had attacked her, he wanted to know about it.

Tess sighed and shrugged.

"Nothing. I'm just-" She shook her head and threw up her arms, glaring around the warehouse like it had offended her. "I'm just stressed out, is all. There's so much work to do and I just-" Her voice caught and wobbled as she spoke and she snapped her teeth together in vicious restraint. Taking a deep breath that barely shuddered, she tried again.

"I'm sorry guys, it's really nothing. I'm just tired, I think, and I don't have all the parts I need so I've had to cannibalise some things and so much time got wasted and then Sig said he needed thirty five turrets – thirty _five_! – and not only is that going to take forever but I just _can't_ get some of the parts I need. Sig also said that these are for desert use, which means the cooling systems are of paramount importance – but the standard turret stuff isn't enough and the better tech I used in the prototype is only made in Kras city – and with the security right now, nothing is going in or out so I can't even order any more!"

She took another deep breath. Jak and Daxter just stayed very still, allowing her frustrated rant to wash over them.

"_Plus_ I think I'm going on my period early because Keira has moved in, so my emotions are a bit whacked at the moment, that plus the stress has just made me a bit weepy and _that_ just pisses me off because I _hate_ crying, it solves _nothing_!"

Frozen, Jak and Daxter exchanged tense looks. They had no idea what Keira moving in had to do with Tess' period, or what _that_ had to do with her emotions and they didn't _want_ to know. They just wanted to cheer Tess up and get the hell out. Like, _now_.

Luckily, their expressions right then seemed to be pretty effective, as Tess took one look at them and almost busted a gut laughing.

Jak cleared his throat, realized his hand was still on her back and promptly took it back.

"I, uh, I have some people looking for volunteers amongst the refugees." He offered as Tess calmed down. "I had the thought of sending any mechanics straight to you – both to help you and to be under your leadership until this is all over with."

Tess brightened even more.

"You mean I get my own slaves?" She asked excitedly. Jak stared at her.

"…Assistants." He corrected warily. "Subordinates at worst. Just… put them to work where they're most needed, be it helping with these turrets or working on repairs."

Tess pouted, but seemed mostly recovered. Jak breathed a sigh of relief and stood with her as Daxter leapt up into her arms to steal a hug.

"Where _is_ Sig anyway?" He asked, trying to ignore the way Tess rubbed her face against Daxter's ears and Daxter rubbed _his_ face against her breasts.

"He went to get more turrets." Tess answered in a baby voice. "Yes he did! Got some Wastelander buddies to help out." She finished with a loud kiss to Daxter's nose and released the dazed and smug ottsel, who promptly leapt up to Jak's shoulder and leaned dreamily against his head.

"That's…good." Jak replied. Tess shook herself a bit and smiled. Before he could stop her, grease-streaked arms had wrapped around _him_ too, as the mechanic gave him a brief but _very_ strong hug.

"…Thanks Jak." Tess said quietly, stepping back. "For helping us, and for helping me. You're a good guy, ya know?"

Jak swallowed, not trusting himself to speak.

No, he wasn't. Not really. Not like he used to be.

After a moment, he turned to go.

"You'll be alright?" He checked. Tess, having produced a spanner from nowhere, waved it at him confidently. "Just get my gophers here, pronto!" She commanded, turning to prod at the turret closest to her. "I'll send one of them to you with a list of parts I need."

Jak nodded but was interrupted by his comm before he could answer.

Flipping it open revealed the caller to be a very tense Keira, who informed him that he had a visitor at the bar and could he please come deal with it ASAP.

Frowning, he let Daxter yell their goodbyes (although personally, _he_ wouldn't have used the words 'my sugar-laced schnookums') as they booked it for the bar.

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The Naughty Ottsel was dead silent.

Every man, woman and child was staring at one person, who leaned against the bar and tried to hide just how unnerved the scrutiny was making her.

"Ashelin." Jak greeted warily, glancing at a tight-faced Keira who nodded to confirm that this was the 'guest'.

Jak could understand why Keira hadn't been happy. Half the bar looked like they wanted to start a fight and the other half just looked frightened.

Ashelin wasn't as hated or feared as the Baron, but she was - through no fault of her own - still his daughter.

And she still wore the colours of her house, despite revising the Guard's image.

It would take more than what she had done so far, for her own efforts to erase those of her father's, and Ashelin hadn't had much cause to see that fact yet – certainly not so up close.

Ashelin couldn't quite mask her relief, betrayed in the way she straightened up so quickly and her body lost its battle-ready tension.

People were looking from her to him and Jak was struck by the sudden awareness that if he treated her too well, the people here would distrust him by default. And yet, if he treated her badly he ran the risk of loosing any support she might be willing to offer.

And, for better or worse, she _was_ his friend. Y'know. He was pretty sure.

Sensing the mood of the room and probably knowing better than him how delicate some things had to be, Ashelin made the first move.

"I need to talk to you about the situation here at the dock." The redhead stated boldly, publicly demonstrating that she, at least, considered him in charge. Or, maybe she knew nothing about what was going on and was just hamming it up for the people, making it look like she had things well in hand or had intended all along to delegate or…

_Precursors_, politics hurt his head. Who the hell actually _wanted_ to deal with this shit?

Putting the thought aside, Jak nodded.

"You can go up to the office, I'll meet you there in a minute." He replied, wanting some time to sort his own thoughts out before he had to get into it with Ashelin.

Friend or not, he was _not happy_ with how she'd been handling the people here and the metal heads in the industrial section. But at the same time he knew that he didn't have all the facts and couldn't condemn her blindly when he _also_ knew that she _would_ be trying her best.

Fortunately, Ashelin just nodded sharply and turned on her heel, stalking through the side door that led to the storage, stairs and sleeping areas. There wasn't any actual 'office' per se, but it sounded better than 'go find a bed and wait for me'.

Once her footsteps had climbed the stairs, Jak sighed and finished walking to the bar. Slowly, low conversation resumed in the room.

Keira leant forwards with a frown.

"Sorry, Jak." She apologised. "She wanted me to tell you to meet her somewhere else, but frankly I thought she could do with a good look at what's going on around here."

Jak rubbed his brow and just nodded. He knew Keira's dislike of Ashelin was based on more than just how she'd reacted to the remaining metal heads, but there was no need to drag it all up.

"Oh, and Bolt was here earlier, looking for you." Keira remembered, smiling faintly at the memory of the excitable young teen. "He's managed to bring all his band friends to the Port, but he was pretty down when I told him we wouldn't be hosting anything for awhile. I think he's looking to see if you say anything different."

"Hosting?" Jak asked blankly.

"The auctions?" Keira returned, at the same moment Daxter jumped down to the bar and announced "Mud-wrestling _ladies_!" at high, enthusiastic volume.

Oh. Right. Those boxes in Tess' workshop were intended to be auctioned to pay for her parts and labor, but finding buyers right now was essentially impossible.

Bolt had eagerly volunteered his little band to provide music, promising that they knew all kinds of songs to suit the occasion.

Jak, whose music tastes were 400 years old and limited to begin with, hadn't seen anything wrong with the idea.

"Well, once things are set up, a little music might not be such a bad thing." He reasoned. "People are cold, hungry and frightened. The first two are more easily rectified than the last one. Maybe Bolt and his friends can help out too."

Keira gave him a frankly disbelieving look, then shrugged.

"You're the boss, Jak." She said agreeably.

Jak tried not to show how startled he was. He glanced over at Daxter who seemed to be miming someone hitting something else with unnecessary violence, waving his head back and forth and sticking his tongue out from a silently-screaming open mouth. Keira giggled and Daxter stopped thrashing about, blinked up at Jak with innocently evil eyes and smiled.

"Oh yeah, I agree." He said easily. "Nothing soothes like hard rock."

Keira made a strangled noise and turned away. Jak glared at them both on general principle and moved to the doorway to follow Ashelin. Daxter ran along the bartop and leapt easily onto his shoulder as he reached the end.

Negotiation time.

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Ashelin was standing by the window, looking out at a narrow view of the port and the people huddled within it. She didn't turn as Jak entered the room, although an ear flickered in acknowledgment.

Jak closed the door and leant against it, arms crossed. Daxter jumped down and made himself comfortable on the cot tucked against the wall.

"…Things are bad, Jak." Ashelin said at length. "And they're getting worse." She turned and rested against the window, backlit by flickering streetlights.

"The agricultural section is completely compromised." The young governor revealed. "It's become a breeding ground for Metal Heads. I had to bring down the buildings on either side of it to seal it off but even that has only slowed them down." One folded arm lifted to rub at her temples.

"I had hoped to move most of the population into New Haven." She admitted. "But the council pitched a fit. I couldn't afford to fight them on it, so I ordered everyone else to barricade themselves in their homes. As long as they don't leave them, they should be safe – they _were _built to withstand attack."

"But they can't stay in their homes indefinitely." Jak pointed out. "They wouldn't have enough food. I know the city is still using ration chips..."

Something undefinable shifted in Ashelin's expression.

Jak felt his fingertips go cold as Dark surged.

"...The _workers_ are on ration chips." Jak corrected himself slowly, suspiciously. He could hardly believe that Ashelin could have...

The woman closed her eyes for long second, then tossed her head.

"I didn't have much of a choice, Jak. Politics is about compromise. Sometimes, you have to make unpleasant decisions for the greater good."

Jak could barely think through the haze of rage in his mind. His ears rang with a high-pitched whine as he looked at Ashelin and, for the first time, saw her Father.

"Yeah, I get that." He said distantly. Ashelin's eyes narrowed as she studied him, seemingly caught off guard by the depth of his emotional reaction.

"Sometimes..." Jak said softly. "Sometimes you have to take people off the streets. People nobody'll miss. Whores. The homeless. Children. Time travelers."

_Now _she got it. Her eyes widened almost comically as her sharp mind made the connection instantly.

"Jak-" She started, cut off almost instantly by Jak implacable voice.

"Sometimes... for the 'greater good'... you've gotta turn those people into monsters. Protect the many at cost of the few. Better one hundred die screaming as they claw their own brains out, than everyone face an extended war."

She looked frightened now. He thought distantly that it was a very unfamiliar look on her. An even more distant part of him wondered why.

"In my experience." He was whispering now. "People who hurt the few for the sake of the many... people who justify the suffering of the poor or the dispossessed for some lofty 'greater good'..."

He found himself standing close enough to touch, breathing in her frightened pants, viewing the world through murky violet rage.

"Those people, Ashelin? _They're_ the monsters."

She swallowed tightly. He could hear her dry throat struggling, her heart pounding. He could smell her fear.

Once, the fear would have tipped him over the edge.

Now, he took a careful step backwards. Breathed in. Thought about the frightened people downstairs, the people who needed him. Needed him to be sane, to keep it together.

Breathed out.

"So." He said, as though the little moment of almost!murder hadn't happened. His voice was steadier than he'd hoped, but unmistakably cold, too.

"The nobles are feasting and the rest of us are starving." He said flatly.

Incredibly, Ashelin had sufficient nerve to straighten up and contest him.

If her hands were shaking as she brushed back her hair, neither of them mentioned it.

"They're not starving – I made sure the rations were more than sufficient for each family." Her voice shook only slightly, strengthened by her honest conviction. "I had to make some concessions to the nobles, yes. But even then, I made sure the people wouldn't go hungry. I _had_ to keep rationing because Haven hasn't recovered enough for the kind of waste that happens when people can buy food as they like. As it is, I divert all excess food from New Haven to support the rations for the Guard and the Orphanage."

"'Excess food'." Jak mocked. "Scraps, you mean. Too close to spoiled for the nobles, but not for us commoners, right?"

Ashelin flushed, a combination of anger and embarrassment.

"The food is good!" She insisted. "Close to spoiled doesn't mean spoiled! Ensuring our orphans and soldiers have extra food is _not _a bad thing!"

Before Jak could argue, she stepped forwards and jabbed him with a red-nailed finger.

"And _you're_ hardly a commoner, Jak, so _can_ this 'we of the people' crap."

Jak just looked at her.

"You're right." He said calmly, bitingly. "I'm _not _a commoner. I'm the son of King Damas. Heir to the house of Mar. Heir to the throne of Haven. The throne _your Father_ usurped and the throne I could challenge _you_ for at any time."

Ashelin took a step back, utterly shocked at Jak's unsubtle threat.

"But right now," Jak continued quietly "I don't give a fuck about any of that. Right now, what matters to me are the people _here_, the people you and your _compromises _have failed."

Ashelin's mouth moved, but it seemed she couldn't find anything to say.

Jak sighed and scrubbed a weary hand over his head. A glance to the side showed Daxter no longer slouched on the bed but standing on a low bench, arms crossed and a dark look on his face directed squarely at the governor. Clearly, his friend was in full agreement.

"Look, Ashe... I _know_ you care about these people. I do." He allowed. "And I know that your job is a lot... harder... than I acknowledge, mostly."

Her lips twitched at his strained concession.

"So, for now... let's just try and help each other. Okay?" He looked up, half-expecting her to fly into a rage and stalk out, friendship broken.

He _had_ just essentially threatened to boot her out of power, if not now than some day in the future. It wouldn't be a shocking result, to lose her as a friend.

Fortunately, Ashelin was well practiced at working through conflict – she'd had plenty of practice on the nobles, after all.

She nodded, swallowing back all the things she really wanted to say (_scream_) for now and focused on the situation at hand.

"I can offer you a small contingent of soldiers." She said after a moment. "And, although I doubt you were planning on getting it, you have official permission to utilise the resources in the Port in any way necessary for the protection of citizens in the area."

Jak nodded.

"Volunteers would be best." He said abruptly. He didn't like thinking of the Guard being in _his_ Port, but it helped to think of them as family of the people he was protecting. To think of them as what Bolt could have become.

"If any of them have family in this area – family they're especially worried about -" He added, realising that a majority of the guard _would_ have origins amongst the 'common folk'. "Those would be the best to bring in. Less distracted fighters on your end and more committed fighters on ours."

"I'll get Torn to sort it out." Ashelin agreed. "But in the mean time, if you can handle it..."

She hesitated and Jak raised an eyebrow.

"You were right about people not being able to stay in their homes forever." She conceded. "I was hoping it that wouldn't be for more than a couple of days but this problem is spiraling rapidly out of control. So, if I had my men clear them out and send them to you – could you handle them?"

The look she gave him was more than a little challenging. He had very limited space and limited resources. She was talking about doubling the amount of lives to protect and mouths to feed. She was daring him to do better.

Really, it was like she'd never even _met_ him before.

"I can handle it." He confirmed. Ashelin rolled her eyes just a little, and yeah, maybe he _was_ jumping into the deep end with no real experience or anything, but...

When it came to sink or swim situations? He _thrived_.

"Anything else?" She asked, clearly itching to get away. He'd probably be fielding abusive comm calls from Torn later tonight.

"Yeah, actually." Jak said, spur of the moment.

"How do you feel about mud wrestling...?"

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Unsurprisingly, Ashelin didn't feel particularly positive about it, especially once Daxter started lasciviously describing the 'official uniform' required of all participants.

She _did_ agree, however, to taking some artifacts with her and using her connections with the nobles to get some fast credit sent their way – once she'd convinced Daxter at gun point that _no, really, she was fine with keeping all her clothes on, thank you._

She didn't ask what exactly Jak planned to do with the money and Jak didn't volunteer anything. When the redheaded woman left, their friendship was clearly strained but hopefully not damaged beyond repair.

Jak lingered for a few minutes, just in case someone started something downstairs.

Ashelin could take care of herself, Tess had made damned sure that Keira knew how to use a gun and he was, frankly, well over his monthly quota for drama.

After some time had past and no shots rang out, Jak exited the room... and almost bumped into Bolt, who just stood there, staring at him.

After a long moment where Bolt didn't seem inclined to do anything else, Jak could only conclude that the kid had overhead him bitching out the ruler of the city and was having trouble processing it.

"Hey, Bolt – you ok?" He asked, brushing his fingers against the kid's shoulder. Bolt snapped out of it like he'd been shocked, eyes opening even _wider_.

"_You're the heir of __**Mar**__?_" He squeaked.

Jak froze.

"Uh.." He tried, glancing at Daxter for help, who unfortunately just glanced back at him with an equally clueless expression.

"Is it true?" Bolt squeaked again, his voice pitched even higher. Jak winced a little and rubbed the back of his head.

"Well. Yeah, I guess." He muttered. "Though it's kinda complicated. And really, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep this to yours-"

"_THAT is SO __**COOL**__!" _Bolt all but screamed, his face so suffused with awe and joy that Jak kinda felt bad for wishing he'd shut the hell up.

"Yeah, thanks." He tried again. "But really, if you could just-"

Bolt surged forwards and hugged him, hard. Jak's brain stalled. He barely had time to register what was going on before Bolt leapt back, looking somewhat mortified.

"Sorry, sorry! Just, um-" He sketched an awkward-looking shallow bow, looking up with hopeful eyes and a furrowed brow, as if _asking Jak_ if that was what he should be doing.

"Wait, no – don't." Jak begged, both hands raised. Too late. Bolt was already spinning on his heel, clearly ready to rush off an do something loud and inconvenient in front of a lot of people.

Jak didn't even think about it before he vanished in a flash of blue light, moving to stand before Bolt so fast that the boy didn't see him until he bumped right into him.

"Woah.." The kid breathed, eyes wide again. "Was that a Dark Power?"

_Again with the unreasonable approval of **things that can kill you**. _Jak thought sourly.

"No. Light power." He answered curtly. "Now _listen _to me, Bolt-"

"Like Light Eco?" Bolt's voice was rapidly rising in pitch again. Frustrated, Jak closed one hand firmly around his shoulder and the other over his mouth.

"_Listen_ to me." He ordered. "I need you to keep this a secret for now, okay Bolt? It's really important."

He removed his hand cautiously. Wide green eyes blinked at him.

"...The Light powers thing, or the secret-prince thing?" The brat asked innocently. Jak ground his teeth.

"The.. The _prince thing_." He muttered.

"Oh." Bolt said, a little sadly. "...How come? You'd be cool at it."

Despite himself, Jak smiled.

"Thanks, kid. But like I said – it's complicated. For one thing, I'm the wrong age – time travel was involved and everything is pretty messed up. It's not the kind of thing people are going to believe without a hell of a lot of proof, okay?"

Bolt was nodding slowly, looking _really_ sad now.

"And we really can't afford to have people wondering if I'm making up lies to try and steal the throne." Jak pressed, needing to _make sure_ that Bolt would keep this under his hat.

Bolt looked mildly outraged.

"But I heard you guys! The governor said you were no commoner and when you said you were the heir to the throne and could kick her off it any time you wanted, she didn't deny it! She backed down!"

"Yeah, but an overheard conversation by one guy is not going to convince anyone." Jak asserted, though not without sympathy. He was aware that Bolt had a little hero-worship for him, and for a kid from his background, the idea of a long-lost heir coming back to regain the throne and remove all the fear and war that people had suffered under would be an old fairy tale often longed for.

"So, can I trust you?" Jak asked quietly. Bolt met his eyes and nodded reluctantly. Jak squeezed his shoulder in gratitude and straightened.

"Good. Thank you. Now, Keira tells me you were looking for me?"

Bolt sniffed, once, but straightened his back and made a visible effort to just forget everything he'd just overheard.

"Uh, yeah. My friends – that band I told you about? We managed to sneak in. Well actually this guard turned out to be one of the few who aren't douches and escorted us in as long as we promised to stay put, but yeah!" He smiled, not as strongly as he had before, but not a bad effort either.

"Whenever you need them, they're ready to go!" He announced, omitting the fact that Keira had already told them they wouldn't be needed. Jak and Daxter exchanged an amused look.

"They're really good – and really excited for the opportunity!" Bolt insisted, maybe misinterpreting the look or just knowing that the situation had changed quite a lot since the last time it had been mentioned.

"Sounds good." Jak agreed. "If they don't mind, they can hang out here for a bit whilst we get organised – this room is fine. Maybe work out what some good songs are to keep peoples' spirits up. When we have a place for them to set up, I'll send someone to fetch them. Deal?"

"Deal!" Bolt agreed enthusiastically.

"Sweet." Jak agreed, clapping his hand on Bolt's shoulder again. "You get them up here and I'll go get started on sorting this place out."

Bolt nodded and raced downstairs, feet clomping loudly. Jak followed him down a little more slowly and absolutely silently, unable to keep from smiling at the sheer unbridled enthusiasm the kid exhibited.

"You used to be like that, once." Daxter mused dreamily, leaning on Jak's head. Jak snorted, not needing to see his friend's face to know he was being teased.

"I was _never_ like that." He rebutted. "_You_, on the other hand..."

Keira, loaded down with trays bearing dirty dishes, caught him as he came down the stairs.

"Your dog, your problem." She said crisply, jamming a battered can into his chest as she walked past, swinging her hips sideways to knock the kitchen door open. Looking down at the can of dog food – near expiry – he followed her.

The kitchen, unlike the rest of the Naughty Ottsel, was large and fancy. A dozen different machines dedicated to cooking spanned one wall, an island of gleaming steel running down the middle of the room held sinks at either end and enough workspace to prepare a banquet. Two doors led into a walk-in cooler and freezer.

Keira was in the near corner, unloading plates and bowls into an industrial dishwasher that probably hadn't seen much use in the past couple of months. Her hair had been pulled up into a messy clip with stray hairs sticking out. She looked frazzled, the humidity of the bar lending her skin a sweaty look.

Jak slunk past her towards the far door, before she could rope him into helping. Daxter, on the other hand, was more interested in a deep pot of what smelled like yakkow stew and jumped nimbly from his shoulder to the center island, stealthing his way around piles of dishes to sneak a taste.

Jak opened the door into a tiny courtyard – it had once been an alleyway, but Krew hadn't liked having all those poor homeless people camping out in _his_ backyard and so had it all bricked in.

The rain had stopped but the ground was wet and the air stank worse in here for lack of a breeze. A single drain kept the area from flooding but the flat ground meant that it puddled.

Huddled down against the chill, fur clumped and wet, Mar's crocodog lay miserably in the corner. It was either sleeping or worse – it had grown used to people coming out here and not paying it any attention.

Jak couldn't help but feel guilty. He didn't really remember the dog – not from his childhood – but the animal had attached itself to Jak easily enough when his younger self was sent through time. Through scent or something else, the dog had known that Jak was his master and had given him instant and undemanding affection. Love without judgment, despite the Dark that still tainted his blood.

And he'd been so wrapped up in himself, his problems, his murky future, that he'd utterly failed to appreciate that love. Sure, he'd always had a pat ready for the animal. He'd always allowed it to cuddle against his leg, sleep by his bed or lick his hands...

But he hadn't thought about who fed the animal. Where it stayed when it wasn't clamoring for his attention.

Now he realised that Daxter or Tess had taken care of it for him. Taken on the costs, giving it a place to stay and never – ever – putting the pressure of caring for it on Jak's shoulders.

He slumped.

_Precursors, I can be such a self-centered brat._

He stepped forwards, gaining a perked ear from the dog. One eye slid open to check him out, followed by the whole dog coming alive with quivering excitement. It leapt to its feet and turned a sharp circle, barking happily.

It was tied to the wall via a thin chain and it strained against it now to come to him.

Jak stooped to place the can on the floor by the door, then stepped forwards and knelt, running apologetic hands over the ecstatic animal's head and back.

"Hey, buddy." He greeted quietly. "I'm sorry I forgot about you. That was pretty shitty of me."

The crocodog didn't seem to care, licking his hands and lunging up to try and lick his face too. Despite himself, Jak laughed.

He felt an odd sense of familiarity, although he couldn't be sure it wasn't just from his previous exposure to the animal as an adult.

"Like I said, I'm sorry." He repeated, reaching to unsnap the chain from the dog's collar. "But I promise I'll make it up to you."

The crocodog crowded close, pushing between his bent knees and sat, panting happily. Jak rubbed his ears fondly, eliciting a pleased humming growl in return.

"How do you feel about deserts?" He asked, grinning when the dog yipped and stood up against him, paws pressing against his chest like he understood.

"Ok." He stood, glancing at the chain in his hand.

"Am I gonna need this?"

The dog snorted and shook itself, sending a light shower of water all around.

"Guess not." Jak's lips twitched. He dropped the chain on the ground and strode back towards the kitchen. When he got to the door without hearing the patter of little paws, he stopped and turned.

The crocodog stood where he'd left him, staring at him uncertainly.

"You coming, or what?" Jak asked gently, tilting his head towards the kitchen.

The dog _barked_ and bounded past him into the warmth.

Jak grinned as he heard Keira swear as she tripped over the mutt, making Daxter burst out laughing.

For the first time in a long time, despite all the shit going on, he felt truly and uncomplicatedly _happy_.

And it felt _good_.

**END **of chapter 8!

And once again, so much of that was written before now but just one or two little bits were being difficult and holding everything up!  
(Why do I alternate between crocodog and dog? Well frankly, crocodog is a bit of a mouthful, but it instantly calls to mind what the animal looks like. So I'm going to consider 'dog' to be an acceptable short form of 'crocodog'. Let me know if you find it jarring in any way.)

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, seeing as how this is the start of the main meat of the entire story – the thing I've been working towards this entire time. :S

Ah HA! _You _thought this was about **Jak** and **Damas**, _didn't _you? Bwahahahahaha! Fear me, for I have depth!

Like a puddle.

But...a _deep _puddle...

Seriously, please let me know your thoughts since this is one of those pivotal moments. :D

Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Filler chapter today. :S Sucky but necessary. :)

**kindigo**, you cracked me up so hard I just had to abandon my plans to 'store' this until I had a more exciting chapter ready to post after it. This is for you.

**JnD JnD JnD**

Things moved quickly. Little motivated people like hunger and an uncertain future. It brought out their base instincts, the ones that made their fingers itch to build shelters, gather food, to _fortify_.

Civilisation dulled those instincts, encouraged people to second-guess themselves, to content themselves with what was permissible within society.

But these people had been living on the edge for years, weary without an end in sight. They had survived a traitor opening their city to Metal Heads but had utterly lost faith in their rulers' ability to deal with the situation. If the land was habitable outside the city, they would have fled in droves.

The next best thing, when your neighbour was trying to soothe a sick child and your family was in each others' laps to get in out of the unhealthy rain, was when whispers of the underground hero – the man known only as _Jak_ – reached you with news that he was back. The man who'd done the impossible already, was turning his attention to _fixing _things. To helping them all find their feet, get them safe and fed and warm.

If it had been anyone else who'd tried it, they wouldn't have had a chance.

But Jak had proven himself – _he got things done_. One way or the other.

Bo and Flo worked hard with the energy that comes from knowing that what you're doing is important. Everywhere they went, with their little notebooks, they brought straightened shoulders and renewed hope. People stopped huddling under blankets and stepped forwards to volunteer.

A group of women took over one of the medium-sized office spaces, moved all the furniture into a smaller room and promptly set up a child-caring centre for everyone who wanted to help but had small children to mind. They didn't ask for payment, or compensation. Instead, they seemed grateful for the chance to be useful. They accumulated the sparse toys and random safe objects that could _become_ toys as well as blankets, but kept only what they needed – anything extra they sent to Warehouse 1, which had been designated as the central inventory/distribution building.

Men and women with physical strength or basic tech skills stepped up to scavenge the surrounding area for anything useful – anything they couldn't lift themselves would be relayed to Tess, who would send one or two of her new mechanics to assist.

Jinx and his crew of less-than-legal workers made fast work of 'liberating' not only two force-fields but a couple of dozen boxes from an old KG storehouse. The boxes mostly consisted of ammunition refills (Jak took the opportunity to restock his own weapon), but several also contained tightly packed armor plating and modular 'walls' that could be set up to provide cover for defenders with small slits through which they could fire. It wasn't much in the grand scheme of things, but every little bit helped.

It wasn't until Jak got a call from Tess wanting to offload some completed upgrades that he realised they'd also been quietly stealing more turrets and delivering them to her – though Precursors only knew how they'd found out about it.

Sometimes it really paid to have a small group of dedicated criminals on your side.

The blackboard that Keira had dug up now lined the wall outside the Naughty Ottsel, keeping a running tally of population, allocation and needs. Several other, smaller blackboards had also been unearthed and nailed to the opposing wall, which was used as a community communication board. Words of praise or gratitude for the volunteers competed for space with messages asking for items to buy or trade. Keira dutifully kept an eye on both boards and comm'ed Jak whenever there was something she thought he needed to know – like the apparent shortage of medicine. Daxter volunteered to take over communications with Kras city, using his fast-talking skills and access to both credit and artifacts to organise shipments of anything they needed, but lacked. Priority went to the items Tess needed for the turrets, but medicine and frozen food was right behind it.

Kras city, being built over the ocean and well away from almost all Metal Head conflicts, was affluent enough to handle their orders with ease. They also charged through the nose for it, making them a resource of last resort.

Ashelin's promised guards arrived just as many people were starting to slow down from their initial rush of energy. It had been a long day for them all and even Jak was thinking longingly of getting his head down for a few hours. As light was fading, Jak had the soldiers first take care of setting up the barges – their discipline, training and co-operation made the potentially risky execution a quick and easy job. They put more thought into it than he had; setting the barges flush against the outside wall first before moving inwards, which provided more wind protection for the eventual residents as well as placing them firmly within the port beyond the bridges – keeping them well away from the pipes spewing industrial waste into the water and leaving the rest of them some space to maneuver if necessary. They'd brought two hellcats with them and both were stationed on barges within the inner-port area.

To further expand the floorspace of the residential area – and maximise efficient use of the barges – they lashed the barges together but with space enough for a military-grade netting to stretch between them. The outermost barges were pulled to the side as much as possible before being tied off, so that the whole thing was held together with tension that assisted its stability.

Jak was, despite himself, impressed.

Many of the guard had also removed their helmets and upper armour, as they were engaging in hard work and not battle. Underneath the armour they all just looked so different. One man dropped his helmet and gun in favor of catching two small children who'd slipped out from the crowd to leap at him.

With his eco-enhanced vision, Jak could pick out the relief and joy on all three of their faces as the man cuddled his children close. No one else stepped forward to interrupt or take part, making Jak wonder if the guard was the only family those tiny kids _had_.

A family he could have – would have – so easily erased, had the man had the misfortune of being near him in uniform, at any point over the past year. The difference between a man he'd protect and a man he'd kill – was as small as a one-size-fits-all helmet of kevlar and glass.

With the rain having stopped a few hours ago and the contents of the Port (and half the surrounding area no doubt) having been thoroughly stripped and organised, it took hardly any time at all for volunteers and guards alike to roll out tarps, tents, ropes, poles and all manner of miscellaneous junk that had the mass of barges looking downright homy. Small eco-powered space-heaters were set up at equal distances, walkways were established and marked with fluorescent tape, water-proof materials were used to build high roofs and blankets of all colours and sizes were used to delineate individual spaces for families or groups.

Flo and Bo had evidently gone a step further and drawn up grouping arrangements that the guards used to guide them and others.

The sky was sinking from a dark purple to blue when the first of the civilians were moved in, many of them clutching personal effects. The guard would gently disallow some things, but Jak saw Bo taking down names and tagging those items to be stored.

Jak was just about to suck it up and speak to them about setting up watches for the night when there was a sudden ragged cheer and all along the edge of the barges, dozens of electrical lights tucked within a rainbow of mismatching paper or silk lanterns, lit up. Someone must have plugged it into one of the bridge's external outlets and someone else – possibly the children, to keep them occupied – had fashioned colourful covers to hide the stark bulbs.

Someone had been thinking ahead, thinking of light and beauty and co-operation. The lights themselves were connected to the dock, connecting the people within them to the dock, keeping them a part of the sudden community that had sprung up and not simply a group of people shoved to the side.

It was undeniably heartening.

As though in agreement, faint music curled over the water towards him. If he focused, he could pick out Bolt and his friends setting up on the center island, facing out towards the residential area. Bolt was helping an older boy set up a complicated mess of drums, a girl was fiddling with some wires and the other girl – identical except for her ear piercings – was strumming gently on her guitar, the sweetly soft sound of it gathering people's attention.

The scent of cooking meat soon followed it, as people used the space heaters to cook steak or stew, communally using the food to feed them all.

Finally, the mood in the Port was peaceful. Calm. Confident.

Everyone had somewhere to be. Everyone had somewhere warm to sleep, something good to eat.

They felt safe.

_JnD JnD JnD_

Jak had seen the progress in bits and pieces as he moved throughout the port, accepting reports, directing the pilfered supplies and conversing with the men and women whose expertise in a range of things – from sustainable energy usage to water-treatment – were shockingly useful and who often brought up issues Jak would never have thought of. Like how exactly so many people could get access to the extremely limited sanitation facilities, or how they could keep the defences running if the bots wised up enough to cut the power tower linking the Port to the generators.

Jak had never spent so much time just _talking_ in his life, let alone to complete strangers.

Shortly after the living area was finished up, however, he took a moment to breathe. Everyone was settling down for the night, except for the soldiers who just put their armor back on with a quiet sense of achievement. One of them, a woman by the differently-shaped yet no less bulky armor, spoke to a few people, who pointed in Jak's direction.

Despite himself, Jak's body shifted from relaxed to battle-ready.

The woman approached him briskly, but with her gun slung over her back. Slightly behind her followed the man Jak had seen with the children earlier. They stopped short of him, clicked their heels and saluted crisply.

"Sir."

Jak leant back against the wall, not half so relaxed as he appeared.

"At ease." He said, more than a little sarcastically. The shift from shooting at him to saluting him was a bit jarring, no matter the change in armour colour.

They did so, the woman even removing her helmet which she tucked neatly under one arm. It was startling, again, how much of a difference it made. She became a person again, not a guard. The man behind her, who was already sans helmet, just stood in that relaxed-yet-respectful way that he'd seen once or twice before, during prison inspections.

Maybe he should ask Ashelin to make another change to the uniform – to just remove the faceplates. It'd make the guards themselves a damn sight more accountable for individual actions too.

"Captain Elliot Aconite reporting, sir. Fourth division and temporary CO of the Port Volunteer Squad. You're Jak, of the House of Mar?"

Jak's brain stalled.

The captain must have read something like homicidal panic – _what the hell has Ashelin __**done? **_- on his face, because she hurried to add: "We're aware that your identify is highly classified, sir. The Governor informed myself and my second, and has forbidden us from speaking of it to anyone without her or your express permission."

"And what if I hadn't been that Jak?" Was all Jak could manage in response. After all, she'd approached him on the advice of some random people he didn't even personally know!

She smiled, the slightly embarrassed expression the first break in her professional mask.

"Well, sir, I actually recognised you. From both the wanted posters and the racing posters. I just asked the locals to confirm that they recognised you as in charge."

Jak snorted, amused but still a little ruffled.

This was Ashelin's return volley, the redheaded woman not the kind to take Jak's threat lying down. She'd only told two people, but it was a pointed gesture. She _could_ tell anyone.

Everyone.

Jak hadn't threatened her because he wanted control of the city, but because he was angry and she was the easy target for that anger.

If everyone actually _knew_ his heritage, and if it had the Governor's backing... he'd have little choice in the matter. He'd have to accept his hereditary position as ruler of Haven, or formally concede it to Ashelin – neither a choice he was 100% happy with.

Damned prickly woman.

He rubbed his forehead.

"Well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't spread it around." He said simply. The captain just nodded curtly, accepting the order.

"And thank you, by the way." He added, looking up to make eye contact with them both. "For volunteering."

The captain shrugged.

"Most of our families live or work around this area, sir. Commander Torn had trouble keeping the numbers of volunteers _down_."

Jak blinked.

"I see." He said, sparing a thought to be grateful that Ashelin hadn't _also_ thrown an unreasonably large guard force at him too, just because she could. Then again, she was prickly – not petty.

"Well, thanks anyway. And for helping get the housing set up. I hadn't expected it to be finished so quickly." He admitted honestly.

The captain tilted her head a little and smiled faintly.

"To be honest, sir, we were glad to do it. Getting stuck in to doing something _useful_ is a pretty good feeling. Now," She straightened, assuming a more formal tone. "I would like to request permission to begin moving the assigned population from the slums and Bazaar as soon as possible. I can leave a squad here to bolster defences and let the civilian volunteers get some rest, but _we're_ still pretty fresh."

"I was under the impression that most bazaar residents hotfooted it to New Haven?" Jak asked.

"Not all of them, sir." Aconite replied blankly. "Only the ones with money."

"I see." Jak replied grimly.

Great. More people to cram in. At this rate, most of the city would be squeezed into one small corner.

"There aren't too many, sir." Aconite added, either a mind-reader or just apt at recognising the most likely problem. "Mostly small-time merchants who live in their stalls, a handful of homeless people – that's it."

Jak slid a look at her. There was something...

"Your family?" He asked insightfully. Her face tightened.

"...Little sister." She admitted grudgingly, clearly expecting to be reprimanded for putting personal issues first.

Jak just nodded.

"There are more connection points between the Bazaar and the Industrial zone, so go ahead and clear that out tonight." He ordered simply, not missing the subtle wave of relief washing over the captain. "But I'd also like you to send a few men into the slums to prepare the people there to move tomorrow. It'll give them time to pack up whatever food, clothing and other useful items they have lying around to bring with them."

It was Aconite's turn to blink.

"Yes sir. Good idea, sir."

Jak smiled a little. "Thanks, but it was mostly the idea of the women in charge of inventory. Some of them were all for looting the houses in the Bazaar, so I'm sure you'll have a bunch of volunteers to help move stuff tomorrow. I'll get them to send your men a list of what people should pack."

Aconite nodded slowly.

"For that many people, moving so much..." She hesitated. Jak stood up off the wall and patted her arm.

"I know." He agreed. "One giant, slow-moving target – easy pickings. I'll show you the defensive measures we've already installed – they should be good enough to warrant the majority of our security forces moving out to bring them in. We'll do a wide sweep on the way out, kill as many bots as we can find, and will hopefully have a mostly-clear run back."

Aconite hesitated, then nodded again.

"Yes sir." She said simply. It was clear that she had reservations, but was not about to say as much.

"It'll work." Jak assured her, starting towards the nearest gateway. The low glow of the security barrier was visible from here. "It has to. We don't have a whole hell of a lot of options."

_This_ Aconite seemed to agree with, giving a much more vehement '_yes, sir' _as she and her second followed him.

_JnD JnD JnD_

Both soldiers had seemed surprised that the level of security already established, though both visibly bit their tongues over the origin of most of the equipment. Jak appreciated that. It would make for an awkward working relationship if he had to slap them down so soon.

Still, the energy shields were backed up by reinforced armoured cover points – the modules looted by Jinx and his crew – which turned the area in front of them into a killing zone, should the energy shield fail. There was at least one turret at every opening out of the port, two for the wider main exits. The smaller alleyways that connected the Port to the Bazaar and the Industrial zone had almost all been bricked up by now, using quick-set cement. Some night-owl volunteers were reinforcing the walls with scrap metal, iron bars and anything else they were allowed to use. Civilians who had volunteered for guard duty were settled in at each main entry-way, prepared to deactivate the energy field for friendlies and shoot anything that wasn't. More men strolled along the rooftops, almost invisible in the night, each of them assigned as a look-out more than a guard and each of them responsible for activating a roof-based turret should the need arise.

Aconite had been concerned over the fact that the turrets couldn't distinguish between friend and foe, but had subsided when Jak explained the reasoning behind it. She was more reassured by the fact that the turrets could be operated manually, in the case of an oncoming flood of both enemies and non-combatants. Her second, Captain Argo, appeared somewhat in love with the re-worked machines, running his fingers over the altered design and peering inside as much as he could without opening it.

Daxter, who had once again volunteered himself as a runner/communicator, rejoined them then with several copies of a list from the inventory crew, to give to those soldiers who would be door-knocking tonight. The list itself was broken into priority needs and secondary suggestions, including some things Jak wouldn't have thought of, like washing basins and toiletries and cooking implements.

Argo took the list, saluted and jogged off to organise the men going to the slums. Aconite also saluted and left to organise who was staying on defence and who would clear out the Bazaar tonight. Before leaving, the captain had attempted to suggest that Jak could get some sleep instead of coming with them, the awkward result of a woman not used to speaking delicately making Jak more amused than irritated.

It was instinct to go along with them. He had never been the type of person who let others do what he could do himself. He was good with a gun and it grated to let a bunch of soldiers go fight whilst he stayed behind.

He thought maybe Aconite recognised this about him, as there was something resigned about her even as she tried to convince him to let them do their jobs.

And it _was_ their job, Jak realised with a mild burst of understanding. They weren't just men and women with weapons who enforced the will of their leaders. For most of them, the job really was about protecting the people of Haven. They took pride in their job, they drew strength from being able to make a difference, to save lives, to keep the peace. Sure, some of them abused the power they had – because they could get away with it or because it was rewarded. But some of them signed up for this job, trained hard and survived dangerous postings, struggled to find a balance between obeying orders and doing the right thing.

And a mission like this? One that called upon their training in a clear-cut manner, called for them to help the citizens and rout the enemy...

It was almost a gift.

Maybe having him along would be seen as him not trusting them to do the job right, insulting and invalidating their very existence. Maybe he'd be seen as a burden or a loose cannon – something that would distract them as they tried to keep tabs on a fighter not part of their military structure. Or, hell, maybe Aconite was leery of exposing the _Heir of Mar_ to danger, come to that. She hadn't shown even an ounce of Bolt's naive enthusiasm, but her 'sir's were more than perfunctory.

Whatever the reason, Jak wasn't childish enough to insist on going just for the sake of being difficult.

And also, he _was_ tired. He would need to be fresh for the run tomorrow, which would involve a lot more people and likely a lot more danger. He also had responsibilities _here_ – there'd be people still awake, wanting to speak with him before they went to bed, many of whom were more exhausted than he.

And, in the end, he had to learn to trust other people to do their jobs. Not just when it involved things he couldn't do, either. His fingers might itch to wrap around his morph gun and go hunting for death bots, but it _wasn't _the smart thing to do.

He sighed.

"You're right, Captain. You don't need another gun on this run." He admitted, his lips twitching a little at her momentarily blatant relief.

"The Naughty Ottsel has been set up as HQ." He continued. "When you get back, you can drop off your report with whoever is on duty, then go ahead and bunk down yourselves. Be careful out there."

Aconite saluted sharply and left.

Jak glanced up at Daxter, who mimicked her and snorted. "Never thought I'd see the day, Jak."

"Me neither, Dax." Jak murmured, heading back to the Naughty Ottsel. "Me neither."

_JnD JnD JnD_

On the way back to HQ, Jak dropped in on Tess – who was curled up amidst gutted machines and sleeping peacefully, as her minions tiredly sorted other machinery or set up cots under work benches to sleep themselves. She didn't stir as Jak carefully picked her up and moved her to a cot in the office, though she wrapped an arm around Daxter when the Ottsel started tucking a blanket around her. Looking torn between delighted and embarrassed, Daxter squirmed a bit which only caused Tess' arm to tighten, the blonde girl snuggling into the warm animal as she slept.

Jak chuckled and tugged the blanket up to cover his friend as well.

"May as well stay." He said softly. "The first shipment from Kras should arrive sometime tomorrow and I'll need you to stick around and take care of things whilst I help move people in from the Slums."

Daxter wriggled around till he was on his back and yawned up at his best friend.

"You're the boss, Jak." He agreed, eyes sliding to Tess' lips – parted in sleep – then down to where her breasts were pushed together and brushing against him. "I can take one for the team."

Jak just shook his head and smirked, rubbing Daxter's furry head with one open palm.

"Night Dax."

As he left the building, the crocodog who'd been trotting happily along at his heels all day, sat up with a yawn and a wag of his tail.

"It's just you'n'me, Chubby." Jak said softly, leaning down to scratch the dog's ears. The dog whuffed and pressed into him, trotting ahead when Jak started walking, looking back often and returning for another pat or word of praise.

Walking through the chilly night, in the near-silent Port and without Daxter would have been a recipe for loneliness only weeks ago. But now... he didn't know if it was Chubby or the Light Eco or just the sense that he _knew_ everyone who was sleeping or on guard nearby (even though, really, he didn't), but...

He wasn't lonely anymore. He was almost... content.

_JnD JnD JnD_

The final meetings that night hadn't taken too long, most people being too tired to talk needlessly. Jak got the final tally of resources remaining, after the initial set up of defences and housing. The amount of parent-less children was slightly higher than expected, but had been absorbed by the child-caring facility for now.

The immediate area surrounding the Port had been stripped of pretty much anything useful. Jinx's crew had supplied Tess with a startling number of turrets in various conditions, enough to warrant storing them in an adjacent warehouse. There was also more than one hover vehicle tucked away, 'just in case'. There was a strong suggestion that the pipes spewing industrial waste into the port be shut down or diverted, as the sheer number of people made the pollution a needless danger – especially since many factories were continuing automatically, without workers involved and could be dangerous eventually if not shut down.

The risk, of course, was that if Jak sent people in to shut down the factories, and this whole situation with the Death Bots was sorted within a couple of days, the cost of resetting and restarting the factories would be huge – potentially putting some workers out of a job temporarily or permanently.

But if it, like Ashelin had feared, continued to spiral out of control...

Jak decided it was worth it. If people lost their jobs over it, well, the Port was already set up and ready for them.

Another report had gone over the buildings surrounding the Port and outlined how they could be retrofitted to improve their usefulness. Essentially, the offices that extended above the piping over the walkway of the Port and the second storey of many warehouses (with a list of materials needed to split the large buildings _into_ two storeys) could be used to house further refugees, decreasing the density of people on the barges within the port. A dedicated hospital area could be set up. The two buildings against the shield wall on either side of the port already had plumbing that led outside the wall, and could – with some material and a little expertise – be converted into public sanitation facilities.

It was a good plan, although it would mean another large chunk of their artifacts sent to Kras for the materials. Unfortunately, cannibalising the piping within Haven wasn't the best idea. And when it came to simple, light-weight steel beams and floorboards – they were pretty short on stock.

But sanitation was important and so was room to breathe – especially with so many more people due to arrive tomorrow. He made a mental note to delegate the entire thing to Daxter and moved on.

The ground floors of all the warehouses would continue to be used as barracks for the guards (both volunteer and official) and storehouses. Thankfully, a lot of produce from the Agricultural sector was frozen and stored within the port before being moved elsewhere, so they weren't too bad off just yet. It also meant their capacity to store imported frozen goods was quite large.

There was concern from all groups about the closeness of the infested agricultural sector. Jak could only promise that there would be periodical efforts to cull the Metal Heads, with the aim to clear them out themselves if the Governor couldn't.

By the time they were wrapping up, Aconite's group had returned. True to her word, the group of refugees from the Bazaar was small and it looked like many of the small-time merchants had packed up their stalls and strapped it to their backs, unwilling to leave their livelihoods behind to be stolen or destroyed.

Flo, the woman in charge of allocating space for everyone, left to take control of the new refugees. Aconite gave a brief report – no casualties, minimal engagement with the death bots – then retired herself to await the return of those sent to the Slums.

Finally, after an incredibly long day, the group broke up and Jak headed upstairs to sleep, Chubby jumping up to lie across his ankles.

For all that they had done already, Jak couldn't shake the feeling that tomorrow would be when the real work began.

_JnD JnD JnD_

Elsewhere in the city, assault bots gathered as ordered. As waves of their smaller brethren harried guards and civilians all over the city, the larger machines moved quietly into position. They ignored the few Metal Heads they encountered and were ignored in turn.

Moving through emptied streets, there was only one man who knew of their location and their purpose.

Alone in his study, seated before an old-fashioned wood fire and with a glass of wine in hand, Count Veger of Haven smiled.

**JnD JnD JnD**

Wow, nine chapters later and we're just hitting the start of Jak 3.

Also: Shut up. They have Kevlar.


	10. Chapter 10

Years on, and some readers still think I'm a guy. ^_^v

**Warning**: I'm not a soldier. I don't know any soldiers. I don't watch soldier movies. :) I hope you will forgive me my ignorant portrayal of soldier-speech and actions. Because the ridiculous stuff you read here is _totally_ legit in Haven City. That's how they do it, you know. For reals.

**Warning #2**: Some bad language. I apologise.

**Good news: **This chapter is basically the end of all the annoyingly long OC character build-ups! YAY! Now that they're established, they can get on with their lives in the shadows, only popping out long enough to be 'That Guy #3' as needed.

**J&D J&D J&D**

Just after dawn, war came to Haven.

The Port-assigned soldiers (who, as they all had family in the area, called themselves 'the home boys') were halfway through the Industrial Section, mid-route to the Slums, when they heard the first of the screams. Aconite opened her mouth just as a blue/white glowing thing flashed past her.

"The hell was that?" Someone muttered.

"Nevermind that. Double-time!" Aconite barked.

They rushed the remaining distance, alert for rogue Death Bots but the path was eerily clear. It was only when they reached the slums that they saw a teeming mass of "Metal Heads?" "_Son of a-_"

"Spread out!" Aconite roared. "4-corner positions, drive them into a kill-zone! C'mon you pussies, you've been training for this for years!"

Spurred by her words, the soldiers spread out and took command of key alleyways, shooting dead or driving back any Metal Heads they encountered. Fortunately, civilian presence was mostly confined indoors due to the early hour. Only some unfortunate early risers - perhaps preparing for the move to the Port - had come across the metal heads. Judging by the number of bodies on the ground, not all of them had had time to scream.

"I want that kill zone in South-side! If its gotta break, push 'em North! Let New Haven's turrets take 'em!" Aconite bellowed over the sound of her rifle. The turrets in this area weren't activating - no doubt some of the many scavenged by Prince Jak's men to fortify the Port. It was a sharp blow to them _now_, of course. Her men were prepped for Death Bots, carrying electrically charged weapons with only a back-up clip of standard bullets.

What the hell were the vile beasts doing _inside the wall_?

The sheer number of them, from seemingly nowhere, was terrifying. This wasn't a case of a hidden cache of eggs hatching - this was an _invasion_.

Radically out-numbered, her people had to move fast, taking cover more often than firing. Then, like the back-up of old, KG Death Bots waded into the firefight. Mechanical precision and a complete lack of self-preservation instincts made them a formidable weapon.

Except, they weren't targeting the Metal Heads.

Men and women screamed, as a fucking _tank_ of all things began firing on their position. A handful of spindly-legged machines strolled through their traditional enemies as though they weren't even there and the Metal Heads ignored them right back.

It was like...

"They're working together." She gasped, ducking a spray of eco energy before returning fire.

It was too much. Their only hope of survival would be to fall back and regroup, either in the Port or in the closer New Haven.

But to retreat to New Haven would leave the Port missing most of its defenders, and to do either would be to abandon the civilians _here_, who were depending on them for their very lives. Their doors and windows, reinforced or not, wouldn't protect them once the street fight was over.

And yet, they weren't good to _anyone_ if they all died here.

As Captain and temporary CO of 'the home boys', their lives rested on her call.

She was drawing breath to order their retreat, when the world went dark.

Then, purple. The purple slowly bled to an off-white and every hair on her body lifted in reaction.

_Dark eco_.

But so much... an impossible amount. Was this the eco bomb the Baron had built? There'd been rumours, but...

No. In the wake of crackling, dispersing energy was a massive circle of Metal Heads - their corpses already destabilising into raw dark eco - and twisted, melted machinery.

And Prince Jak.

No, **Dark Jak**.

The Baron's ultimate weapon.

The rumors didn't even _begin_ to do it justice.

The albino, clawed, black-eyed demon snarled as the eco around him all but leapt into his body. Hungry eyes flickered about, marking each of them, before the creature just _blurred _into an attack.

Aconite had just enough time to face the desperate conflict of needing to protect her men from herprince, before she realised that - thank the Precursors - at least one rumor wasn't true.

Dark Jak _was_ capable of telling friend from foe. He was tearing into the Metal Heads and Death Bots, touching her men only to roughly yank them from danger.

He was still frightening to behold, but right now he was saving their bacon.

"Fall back! I want central defensive positions _now_! Keep 'em off his back! Medics, get those wounded to cover!" She ordered as she ran, pushing her men to take the raised defensive platforms in the midst of the carnage.

She almost didn't flinch when a Metal Head (torn bloodily in half) was flung over her head.

By the time her men got situated, it was almost over. Dark Jak almost _ran_ through the enemy, unholy glee twisting his expression. Nothing seemed capable of stopping him, even a couple of direct hits barely made him stumble. A couple of times he _threw_ energy attacks of the like she had previously thought impossible.

Distantly, she took note of the destroyed ground and badly damaged buildings he left behind. She'd need to add that to her report.

Then there was nothing but one Dark Eco killing-machine, panting as it searched for enemies.

It locked eyes with her and she felt a solid chunk of ice run down the inside of her spine.

Then, with an all-body shudder, the monster turned back into a man.

"I'll scout for survivors. You start the evacuation." Jak ordered. "Make it quick."

She opened her mouth, unseen behind her mask, to object. Things were different now! They weren't just facing a few renegade bots with a slow mass of civilians, but a full-fledged attack!

"These buildings _won't_ protect them for long." Jak growled, seemingly reading her mind and echoing a thought she'd had earlier. "If we're gonna get these people somewhere safer, now's the time to do it."

His hard expression changed slightly.

"Take 'em to New Haven, if you think you can't make the Port." He allowed. She felt her shoulders stiffen.

"We can make the Port." She replied implacably. "Just you hurry up and come pull your weight!"

Luckily for her, the prince just grinned. It was a grin full of teeth and with more than a hint of blood-lust, but it was on their side.

Then, incredibly, his body flashed the blue/white of light eco. Before them now stood a being as radically opposed to Dark Jak as could be. In a way, though, it was just as inhuman.

She wondered if the old childhood myth had some truth to it. If the line of Mar really _were _descended from their Precursor creators.

Then the prince was gone, quicker than she could blink, and _she_ had a mission to see through.

"You heard him, punks! You know your assigned areas - get these people out of here _**now**_!"

She couldn't help but glance after him as she moved to check on her wounded. Whatever powers he had, he was their only chance of making it to the Port alive if there was another attack of that magnitude.

Although hopefully, there wouldn't _be_ another attack.

They had only just begun their trek back through the industrial sector when explosions split the air and the palace shuddered above them.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Ashelin was _in_ the palace when it was attacked.

She'd been watching the dawn from her father's old office when the unmistakable sight of Death Bot fire in the Slums caught her attention. She'd gotten Torn on the comm and barked orders to have backup sent from New Haven only to discover that Torn was stonewalled by a simultaneous attack on both New Haven _and_ the Stadium district. His men were stretched to the limit as they tried to fend off attacks on all fronts.

And that was _without_ the alarming inclusion of Metal Heads, something that had Torn swearing a blue streak as he updated her.

No-one could guess how they'd gotten into the city, and in such numbers, but it positively reeked of an inside job.

Someone had sold them out. _Again_. But who? Krew had been a gang lord, a man who stood to profit from the city's chaos, but who else could coldly sacrifice their city to the enemy?

And _why?_

Then there was no more time to think. The floor under her feet jolted as something hit the palace and the world outside the window seemed to shake.

"Shit." She hissed, fighting back a sliver of fear. Never before had the palace's location, high above the city, seemed so precarious. So unsafe.

She hurried to the desk and tapped in a short command, linking her comm to the palace's internal speaker system.

"All personnel, this is the Governor. I am ordering an immediate evacuation of the building. All personnel are to group in the courtyard. Palace guards, do a quick sweep for any injured personnel and then begin the headcount."

He last words were punctuated by another, louder explosion. The floor under her _rocked. _Instead of heading down herself, she ran to a hidden passageway and climbed a cramped set of stairs to the roof. Her personal hellcat was ready and waiting and she wasted no time starting it up and taking to the air.

From above, she could see the attacks originating from the Stadium district.

"Torn!" She shouted, freeing a hand to stab at her comm. "The palace is under attack. Heavy artillery fire from the South-East Stadium district. Take them out!"

"Negative." Torn growled back. "We've lost contact with all units in that district. I've got my hands full just keepin' em out of New Haven. Luckily, the Slum front has eased off."

Ashelin breathed out carefully through her nose before smashing a fist sideways into the overhead support beam.

_Shit._

They were going to lose the Palace. Unless...

"Jak!" She barked, stabbing the button for his comm. "Where are you?"

There was a long pause, then:

"I'm busy." Came the short reply.

"The palace is under attack from KG Assault Bots." She snapped back. "They've set up in the Stadium district, which is overrun with Bots and Metal Heads. We need your help."

There was another pause and she had to consciously stop herself from grinding her teeth as another barrage hit the palace.

"You've got soldiers, you've got hellcats, you've got bombs." Jak replied curtly. "Whereas I've got almost a hundred people to get safely to the Port, where _another_ couple of hundred people are currently under siege."

There was short silence, broken only by gunfire.

"..I'd help if I could, Ashe." Jak said eventually. "But I'm not just a guy with nothing to do anymore. I've got people depending on me - and so do you. We've both just gotta do the best we can."

Ashelin swallowed. She felt...

Betrayed.

She shouldn't have been so wounded by his refusal, and yet she was. And she couldn't help but be angry.

"If the palace falls, so will sections of the wall - not to mention what'll happen to whoever the palace _lands on_." She hissed viciously. "You think about _that_, Jak?"

"What I _think_." Jak bit back. "Is that you're _not_ a little girl who needs her hand held. Or are you?

Suck it up, Ashelin."

Her comm gave the little chirrup that indicated a terminated call. Jak had hung up on her.

She swore viciously, but didn't waste any more time. As she called Torn again, she flew her hellcat down and over the stadium district at full speed. Several bots fired at her and missed.

"Torn!" She spoke as soon as the call was connected. "Muster every airborne unit you can for a strike on the Stadium district. I'm scanning it now." She tapped her console as she spied the area where the assault bots had gathered, which automatically recorded and forwarded visual and limited sensory information to HQ. "We need this done fast, Torn. The palace can't take much more."

Sure enough, a visible chunk of the palace's main support was simply _gone_. The first few shots had left black grooves all over the tower, but now the machines were concentrating their fire.

"I've got three Hellcats and ten bikes." Torn replied after a moment. "The rest are watching the skies. We got hit by a swarm of airborne Metal Heads a few minutes ago - probably intended to stop us from doing this."

"That's fine. Have the Hellcats run as bombers and the bikes as escorts. Let the drivers know they'll need to move fast to avoid being shot down - and they _must_ destroy the assault bots in the first or second run. We won't have time for a third."

As she spoke, something metal groaned with tension and one of the external power towers shuddered inwards a little.

"I got it." Torn replied distractedly. "Oh, and I got a call that you're missing from the palace evacuation headcount. You know anything about that?"

Ashelin snorted. "I'll head back to them now, provide air support for the trek to-"

"Belay that." Torn overrode her. "If the palace goes down, we might lose HQ. Hole up in the courtyard if you can - you may need to make a run to the Port instead."

"Right." Ashelin agreed with a sigh, hellcat curving up and away from the Stadium district. In the distance, she could see light glinting off of a dozen aircraft headed her way. "So _don't_ let that happen. That's an order."

Torn chuckled.

"Yes Ma'am."

_J&D J&D J&D_

"You've got a clear run ahead!"

Aconite jumped as the heir of Mar appeared out of freakin' _nowhere_ and almost got a round through the chest for it.

Now _that_ would look bad on her report.

"Sir?" She replied, pivoting smoothly to continue watching for danger. Nope, no near-regicide here, folks.

"I wiped out everything I could find between here and the Port." Jak clarified, bits of blue-white energy still clinging to him like fuzz. "And the Port defence knows you're coming in hot. Round 'em up and make a run for it, Captain. I'll watch your backs."

"Yes sir!" Aconite confirmed, relief rushing over her like a hot bath. She and her men were down to electrical charges only - all but useless against Metal Heads.

"_Snub head charge! Secondary flank! Go go go!_" She screamed the orders, feeling her throat burn. It was well worth it, as her men and women instantly jostled into formation, shielding the civilians between them and began to all but drag them along. She herself fell behind, one of only two whose job it was to ensure no civilians were left by accident. From the corner of her eye she saw Argo stoop to swing a young boy up and onto his back, not breaking stride as he carried the child _and_ kept an eye peeled for hostiles.

Prince Jak disappeared again, but true to his word they encountered practically no resistance on the run to the Port. Reaching the energy barrier was like reaching the gates of paradise and Aconite felt herself go hyper-alert as the first of her people began crossing it. Now was not the time to get complacent.

She sensed movement behind her and barked a strangled order to get down..

It wasn't necessary. Shots rang out from the rooftops and a quick look showed four civilians covering them with focused determination.

The last of the Slum civilians stumbled in, pulled and carried and shoved along by her men. Then she crossed the barrier, which reactivated behind her with a reassuringly strong hum.

Turning, she eyed the corpses of the few Metal Heads that had failed to kill them. They'd been cut down before they could even get within striking distance.

They were safe, for now.

"Report!" She croaked, clearing her throat as it objected. One of the very few who'd been left behind - and who'd been ready on a turret should heavier fire have been required - saluted.

"Ma'am, all attacks have so far been successfully repelled. We've noted a weakness in our defence against airborne hostiles. I respectfully suggest getting some more gunners on the rooftops, pronto."

"Do it, I'll clear it with Commander Jak." Aconite replied instantly, trusting those involved in the defence to know what was needed for the next wave. "I want soldiers up there or armoured civilians with a soldier escort and make damned sure they've got some cover, too."

The soldier saluted and left at a run, another guard taking his place at the turret.

"Get these people situated." She continued to Argos, waving an arm at the mass of frightened new civilians. "Wounded first."

"Already being done,Captain." Argos grinned tiredly, nodding over at a veritable squad of civilian volunteers who were moving confidently through the new refugees and filtering them where they needed to go.

Aconite snorted. It was nice, not to be needed.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Jak was thinking something similar. After witnessing the successful escape to the Port, he'd circled the area via a stolen scooter. The bikes were only designed to hover one of two distances from the ground, but the rooftop served as a functional ground-level, if you could get the bike up there.

And Jak had discovered his limits when it came to light eco. He now felt weary and stretched too thin on the inside, dark eco eating away at him once more without the barrier of light. And unlike dark eco, there was no handy self-replenishing supply of light eco enemies.

So, there'd be no more fast-running or slowing-of-time or whatever it was that Light Jak enabled him to do. He could make the jumps between rooftops if moving fast enough but without eco, he needed a bike to do so.

He wondered if there was somewhere Jinx's crew could appropriate military-grade vehicles. The hellcats and guard bikes were the only ones built to fly higher than the transport zones.

...Maybe not. Ashelin was probably pissed off at him enough already.

He'd seen the bombing run just after clearing the way back for Aconite's team. It seemed to have worked, since there'd been no more attacks on the palace. The attacks on the Port had tapered off as well, Metal Heads and Death Bots alike all but vanishing.

He slowed to a halt as he neared the agricultural zone. It was putrid, infested by dark eco plants and spawning Metal Heads by the dozen.

It needed to be cleared, but short of raining fire on it, he had no idea _how _to. This was the type of infestation that had lead to Dead Town being abandoned and sealed off behind a new shield wall.

But to lose the agricultural section for good... that would lose them Haven, be it a month or a year from now. Then again, even if they somehow cleared it out tomorrow, the ground would still be ruined.

He didn't know what to do.

And if that weren't bad enough, he was having trouble shaking the urge to just.. go ask his father for help.

He shook his head firmly. This whole thing with the Port refugees and Aconite 'sir'ing him - it had messed him up. Gotten him turned around. He might have been born the heir of Mar, but that wasn't his life anymore. His own father seemed to agree, if tacitly. And even if _that_ weren't the case...

King Damas had been overthrown. The Underground had wanted a blood heir because it was their only chance to push a coup and claim legality. But, legally, King Damas was still an outcast - and so were his heirs, no matter how old they were.

Until and unless either Damas himself returned to assert his right to rule the city his ancestor had built, or Jak amassed support (and, more trickily, sufficient proof) and took over, he really had no genuine status in the city. No 'right' to rule, nor responsibility to protect.

It wasn't, in short, his problem.

Now he just needed to convince _himself_ of that fact.

His comm chirruped and he activated it automatically.

"They're retreating for now." Ashelin said immediately, voice flat. "What's the situation in the Port?"

Ashelin was the Governor, Jak reminded himself. And more to the point - she was a good one. She _cared_. Sure, she maybe leant on him as a hired gun a little too much... expected his obedience the way she would any soldier, which he most certainly was _not... _but was that really so bad? Why should she be expected to ignore an asset?

Maybe what really bothered him wasn't that she expected his obedience, so much as that he didn't know whether she was abusing the good will of a friend, or utilising the weapon her father had built.

He shook those thoughts off with an effort, recognising the edge of paranoia to them that could spiral rapidly into speculations of elaborate traps, of a handler he was always intended to be given to.

Damn, he needed some light eco like an addict needed a hit.

"Stable." He replied belatedly, wishing he were back out in the desert. Things were easier there. The sand stripped away the rot that lingered inside him, laid him as bare as could be to what remained of _Jak_.

"The civilians were successfully evacuated and the main attacking force were either destroyed or fell back shortly after the Stadium district was bombed."

"Good." The reply was curt, but the relief was obvious. "Listen, Jak... Count Veger has called an emergency council to be held tonight. The fact that he went over my head to do it makes me nervous."

Jak frowned, setting the bike down behind a vent before replying.

"You think he's aiming to take your job?" He asked. He thought he might remember a Veger... he was either the tall thin sneering aristocrat or the short, fat, sniveling aristocrat. There were usually a gaggle of them taking up space in Ashelin's office, 'advising' her. To him they all looked essentially the same - like people he wanted to shoot.

"Probably, but that's not why I'm calling you. I've been getting calls from some of my allies in the council - it seems Veger has been busy stirring up trouble. Against you, Jak. I think he's trying to pin these attacks on you."

For a moment, Jak couldn't speak. He couldn't remember how to. The world went dark and too-sharp. A prickle of pain in his hands had him glancing down, witnessing pinpoint claws receding from and leaving tiny bubbles of blood on his palms.

"Jak?"

He pushed back the darkness and spoke.

"_Asshole_."

He blinked. That hadn't been what he'd meant to say.

"I mean, do you think anyone would listen? It's not like he could have proof..."

Ashelin sighed.

"Would that he needed it. This is politics, Jak, and it's politics with frightened people. If he can convince them that the ex-convict with dark eco powers is connected to the invasion - of Metal Heads, he'll probably try to pin the rogue Death Bots on me - then it'll be too easy for them to focus on something they can throw their weight at to fix, a little solution to the big problem."

"And you think he can convince them?"

Ashelin's reply was wry. "_Ex-convict_ with _dark eco powers_, Jak. The fact that there's no record of you - or any conviction - won't matter. You were touted as a monster, defeated my father and somehow managed to become a hero of the people all at the same time - that sort of thing tends to make politicians nervous, especially the ones who liked the way the Baron ran things."

Jak sighed, closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face.

"What do you suggest?" He asked, resigned to it.

"Oh, so now you care about what I have to say?" Ashelin replied acerbically, clearly referring to Jak's abrupt dismissal of her earlier request for aid.

"Ashelin." Jak groaned. "Come on. "

Ashelin made an irritated sound, replying almost before he finished speaking.

"I know, I know. I'm just-. You were right, Jak. I had other resources available to me. I shouldn't have just leapt straight to the 'throw Jak at it' solution."

Despite himself, he chuckled.

"'Throw Jak at it'?"

Ashelin snorted. "Hey, if it works... Anyway. You were right, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gotten shitty about it. Now let's never talk about it again."

"Yes ma'am." Jak smiled. "Now, about this whole 'Count Douchebag out for my blood' thing... Seriously, Ashe, you understand all this politics stuff. And... you're my friend. I trust your opinion. So, in your opinion - what should I do?"

There was a short silence. Jak tried to imagine Ashelin looking flattered and appreciative, but his imagination wasn't that great. All he could manage was a cocked hip and maybe a non-aggressive scowl.

"...Honestly, Jak? I think you should leave the city for awhile. Let me take the heat on this. I'll tell the council that you've been working as a liaison with the Wastelanders - which is sort of true - on my behalf. I'll tell them I ordered you to organise the southern defence option when the Death Bots were first discovered, which will help get Veger off my back about doing nothing before the attack. And, since Captain Aconite is set up down there, I'll tell them the Port defence was a success and I re-assigned you to recruit further assistance, either from the Wastelanders or from Kras City. A nice, official reason to be well shot of the city, just in case Veger manages to get support, legal or otherwise, against you."

Jak was stunned. How the hell did Ashelin come up with this stuff so fast? It was like a battle plan, but without any weapons.

"I... right." He said slowly. "It sounds good, I guess. And I do have some stuff I gotta do in the desert, just..."

"Just what?"

Jak rubbed the back of his neck.

"Well, to be honest... I kinda don't wanna leave the Port alone. Those people, you know..."

"You want to protect them." Ashelin filled in. "Personally. I get it, Jak - I really do. You've had lives put into your hands and it turns out you're exactly the kind of guy to be trusted with them. But, sometimes, you need to trust _them_ too. You've got trained and dedicated soldiers, plenty of organised volunteers and, from what I've heard, almost half the damn city's defence infrastructure squirreled away down there."

Jak coughed.

"Uh, yeah. About that..."

Ashelin laughed. It was short, but genuine.  
"_Please_, don't mention it. Then I have to actually know about it in an _official_ capacity. Just... I'm just trying to point out that right now, the people of the Port are more capable of protecting themselves than _you_ are. If Veger sways the council and they order your arrest or worse... Jak, I won't be able to help you. Please, return to the desert. I really believe that's the best option for now, for everyone."

Jak breathed out slowly and looked across the city - at the bustle of energy over New Haven, the damaged palace, the Port standing staunchly against the enemy tide.

"Okay." He said firmly. "But, I'm leaving Dax in charge of the Port."

It was a challenge, a line in the sand, a silent refusal to yield everything he'd built just because he himself wasn't there to guard it.

He could practically _hear_ Ashelin rolling her eyes at him.

"Fine, whatever. But if Aconite shoots that lecherous little furball in the face, I won't be held responsible."

Jak grinned, relived and grateful that Ashelin could yield where he refused to. "Deal. Thanks, Ashe."

"Yeah yeah." The Governor grumbled, cutting the connection.

Jak restarted the bike and turned it back towards the port. He needed to check in, break the news to Dax that he'd been volunteered to lead and protect a few hundred people and then skip out before his best friend overcame the shock and came at him with one of Tess' welders.

Then, he was going home.

**J&D J&D J&D**


	11. Chapter 11

This was meant to be released on Christmas. But, yeah. It didn't want to be.

You know what? I never thought I'd say this, but _I miss Daxter_.

This chapter gets a bit weird, maybe, so brace yourself.

Oh, and _**welcome back**_ to certain people. :)

**J&D J&D J&D**

"Wait, _what_?"

Daxter, in times of great stress, sort of... puffed up. Like a cat.

Right now, standing atop a pile of scrap metal, he looked about half his size again in mass.

"You did _what_?" Dax screeched again.

They were in Tess' workshop, so his voice was barely audible over the din of shifting machinery and test firing. Jak was grateful for that. He hadn't expected his friend to be happy, exactly, but Daxter was looking at him like he'd not only lost his mind but then replaced it with a fistful of boiled cabbage.

"It'll be fine, Dax." Jak shifted his weight from foot to foot, not understanding why Dax's expression was making him feel a little guilty. "You're a good guy. I know you'll make the right decisions."

The ottsel actually _sputtered_, lost for words like almost never before.

"It's not like you haven't been running most of it already." Jak pointed out, referring to all the work his best friend had done to set the small community up. It was thanks to Daxter's irrepressible can-do attitude, snake-oil-salesman smarts and obnoxious personality that everything the Port needed had been found, bought, bartered for or 'obtained' through less reputable means. When he wasn't bragging or irritating people, Daxter was sharp as a razor and twice as unyielding. He'd been more than Jak's runner, he'd been his voice - and face - of authority. Jak might have been giving the orders, but Daxter had been the one running all over the place to deliver them, and often received reports in return. Most he'd passed on to Jak but some he'd simply taken care of himself.

"I've told Ashelin that I'm leaving Dax in charge." Jak directed this at Aconite, who was standing stiffly beside him. Her expression was blank. "And he does have the final word on things, but-"

"**But, **I'm not you!" Daxter yelled over him. "I don't think you're gettin' this, Jak! I mean, props for believing in me and whatever, but I don't think you get just how much of this place relies on you - your vision, your decisions, hell, your _determination_! A fuzzy orange mouthpiece is one thing - a fuzzy orange leader is another! _I don't even have __**pants**__, Jak!_"

Jak was drawing breath to override him, brow already furrowing, when he stopped.

Really _looked_.

This wasn't a crisis of self-confidence or fear... this was Daxter trying to make himself heard, as Jak's friend and equal - not his underling or pet.

And Jak would have to be five kinds of asshole if he brushed him off, if he didn't even _try_ to see things from Daxter's perspective.

"..Okay." He said finally, seeing Dax unwind slightly in response and something that might have been relief flickering over Aconite's face. "Okay. Sorry, Dax. But what other options do we have? If I stay here, and Ashelin's right about the council fixing to blame me for this, I'll be gone anyway - but for good."

He glanced around - at Aconite, Dax, the workers and finally Tess who was looking over with wary eyes. She knew Dax well enough to be able to tell the difference between his various yells, and knew that something undesirable was happening.

"The port's defence is set up. People are settling in well. There's no foreseeable issue besides more sieges and those are being prepared for already. If I head out to the wasteland for a few days, not only will that give Ashelin time to neuter some of the council's trouble makers, but it'll also give me a chance to scavenge some more artifacts - I know we're all but out - and I can also scope the possibility of Wastelander reinforcements."

Jak spoke carefully, knowing that Dax would get what he was saying, whereas Aconite would understand only the sanitized version.

Jak planned to do more than appeal to a handful of Wastelanders. He intended to go straight to their King.

Aconite cleared her throat, softly enough to be ignorable. The woman was rough around the edges yet paradoxically stepped lightly around anything that even resembled her stepping 'out of line' in speaking with her commanding officer - and prince.

Jak glanced his permission to speak.

"Sir, I would suggest making it seem that you will remain in contact." The soldier murmured, for their ears only. "Myself and the civilian leaders are capable of running our sections now with only minimal oversight, which Mister Daxter can provide on your behalf..."

"I _intend_ to remain in contact." Jak replied wryly. "Though I admit, the comms tend not to reach far from Haven."

He paused.

"...What's our capability of maintaining air space control over the port? Separate from the rest of the city, I mean." He asked slowly. "I know Kras has already sent at least one shipment, but Haven is supposed to be on lock-down."

"I have a shift running simple comms." Aconite nodded. "Commander Torn instructed me prior to arrival that the Port was considered a fall-back location and to be kept isolated from main controls whenever possible - to help prevent sabotage. So if, hypothetically, a fugitive from the law wanted to arrange transport back into the city..."

The the woman said what she did with an absolutely straight face made Jak choke back his own amusement.

"Right. Hypothetically, that's good to know." He agreed.

He turned back to Daxter.

"What do you think, Dax? Doable?"

Dax's face twisted as the ottsel visibly wrestled with the idea, then smoothed as he made his decision.

"Fine." The orange fluffball agreed sourly. "But you owe me _big time_, Jak."

Quietly, so much so that even Jak had a hard time hearing him over the din of the workshop, the ottsel grumbled about fur sticking up in uncomfortable places.

"Thanks, Dax." Jak said warmly, reaching to rest three of his fingers on Daxter's small shoulder. For a split second, he saw himself doing it to a human Daxter - one who through biological necessity could not accompany him anywhere by hitching a ride on his shoulder.

He'd always carried some guilt over Daxter's change of species - he added a bit more to it now, knowing that if it had never happened, Jak wouldn't be the man he was today.

He wondered if Dax's path was another 'necessity' watched over by detached Precursors.

The ottsel in question all but waddled off to seek comfort and a good brushing from his girlfriend and Jak took the opportunity to confront Aconite directly. It hadn't occurred to him until this discussion that the soldier might actually have an issue with following the lead of a talking animal, let alone someone very much _not_ the Heir of Mar.

"Will there be a problem?" He asked simply.

Aconite blinked. "Not from me." She answered carefully. "Sir."

Jak nodded and glanced over to his friend, then back to the captain.

"I just want to make it clear." He said simply. "That putting Dax in charge in my absence isn't nepotism or based on emotion or anything other than his own merits. Daxter might not be human anymore, but he's just as much a fighter, just as much a.. a _hero"_ his mouth twisted on the word. "as I am. More, even. I got most of my reputation as a Dark Eco Freak honestly. I _earned_ the horror stories of an insane killer, unable to comprehend anything other than violence."

Aconite's eyes widened slightly.

"It was _Daxter _who dragged the man back out from the monster. It was Daxter who faced the Dark - _my_ Dark - and fought it to protect the innocents around me. It was Daxter who reminded me who I was, who forced me to live for something other than revenge. It was Daxter who made connections, who interfaced between me and the Underground so that we could _help_ each other instead of destroy each other. Daxter kept me on task, repaired me and encouraged me to grow beyond what had been done to me. He is the person who I trust most in the world, not because he is my friend but because he's a brave, dedicated, _good_ man."

Aconite swallowed, then nodded.

"...Ottsel." Jak added, shrugging one shoulder, looking away again as he fought to shove those memories back down. "You know what I mean."

Having dredged up one of his larger, still-raw wounds, he was in a hurry to get away and start repressing in private.

Aconite saluted him.

"I understand, sir." She said crisply. "And I will see to it that everyone else does as well."

Jak met her eyes then, read the promise in them. Saw with muted surprise that it was paired with respect.

He nodded, whistled sharply for Chubby, and left the warehouse.

He had a shuttle to catch.

_J&D J&D J&D_

The shuttle now touched down almost directly across from the main storage warehouse. This was just a short walk from the Naughty Ottsel and the bare cement walkway was thick with chattering civilians and confident soldiers.

Unlike in the past, where passing guards were avoided with eyes averted, these men and women were smiled at and occasionally spoken to. They in turn moved with a sense of protection, not oppression. Their weapons rested slung over their backs, easy to access quickly but not ready in hand for instant punishment.

They were guardians of the flock, dedicated protectors and there was no feeling to the contrary. From anyone.

Jak wondered if these guards stood a bit straighter, propped up by the people's regard instead of hunched against their hateful fear.

He knew that he himself had walked a bit taller, once the Underground had begun to accept him - to admire him.

He wondered how he could keep this going, let it be something that all of Haven experienced.

Obviously, Ashelin didn't encourage or condone malicious behaviour from her guards and with the help of Torn had weeded out the worst of the troublemakers... but people remembered the _bad_ more easily than the _good._.

_A problem for another day._ He thought as he neared the shuttle. Luckily, it appeared to be just finished loading. One of the guards was standing with the driver, a clipboard and pen in hand as he signed off the materials and standing by the shuttle itself was... a girl?

Youngish, maybe around Bolt's age if a little taller, the girl was studiously - and painstakingly - filling in a sketch of what seemed to be Jak's own face sporting a sly grin. One fisted hand bore a 'thumbs up' whilst the other extended a giant middle finger to the world at large.

"..."

Most of it was still nothing more than a waxy black outline, but the girl had filled in the hair (long and flowing), most of the visible shirt and was starting on his skin... no, wait...

...Were those _horns_?

He opened his mouth to say something and, for the first time in almost three years, couldn't find his voice.

He wished Dax was here. His friend was _never_ lost for words.

...Then _again_, if Dax _were_ here, Jak would never hear the end of this.

"...What are you doing?" He managed at last. The girl kept brushing at first, then paused and looked around. Apparently realising that the voice had been addressing _her_ and nobody else, she turned.

"!"

In a move eerily reminiscent of Bolt, her eyes went wide and she bounced a bit on the spot. Her hands shot up to her mouth, clenched in little fists as she muffled a squeal behind them, oblivious to the paintbrush smearing colour through short brown hair.

Jak watched her warily. Had Bolt been recruiting? Or was this normal for adolescents and he'd just been blissfully ignorant until now?

"...Did someone ask you to do this?" Jak asked at length, gesturing to the half-done image of himself on the shuttle.

The spiky-haired head shook side to side. Wide brown eyes got even wider, something like unbridled excitement making them shine.

"Could you... maybe _not_ do it, then?" Jak asked, wincing a little. Even as he spoke, the girl's expression fell slightly.

"Not that, I'm not- I mean, I-" Jak stumbled. "It's just..." Embarrassing. Awkward. Annoying. "It draws unnecessary attention. To the shuttle. It could be dangerous, for the driver. You know?"

The girl nodded slowly, frowning a little in thought.

Silently congratulating himself on successfully navigating a messy diplomatic situation, he half-raised a hand to pat her on the head before thinking better of it and gestured at the shuttle instead.

"I have to get going. Could you-"

He blinked as the girl turned on her heel and ran, disappearing into the crowds without a word. Hopefully, she wasn't crying.

...What would Daxter say?

"Good one, Jak." He muttered.

_J&D J&D J&D_

The ride was more cramped than usual. Tess or Dax or Sig had arranged for a shipment of turrets (cunningly disguised in crates labeled 'yakkow manure', and which smelled like it) to be sent back out to the Wasteland. Peering into one, both out of boredom (Chubby was curled up asleep in the corner) and to assure himself that they actually _weren't_ full of manure, revealed simplified schematics and clear instructions on how to improve the basic models further.

This was likely due to the fact that getting the materials to equip the turrets for optimal desert use was already difficult within Haven, even before the city went into lockdown. Or, it could have something to do with plausible deniability on Tess' behalf.

The girl was hardly stupid, but if she expected the turrets to be of use for Wastelanders, she almost certainly had imagined them as guards for campsites and nothing more - which was definitely for the best. His father seemed the kind of man who wouldn't baulk at having her executed, if it meant Spargus stayed secret. Though, after seeing the quality of her work, hopefully the worst case scenario had changed from 'silence her' to 'abduct her for ourselves'.

A prickle of dark shot suddenly up his spine, a tiny amount that ghosted over his nerves like a threat. Jak rolled his shoulders against it and moved over to the heavily tinted window.

The grey/white blur of desert meeting the horizon was being bombarded.

There was no sound - the impacts were too far away - but each bruised tail of flame was unmistakably made of Dark Eco.

The floor under his feet shivered as the driver increased the speed. Jak squeezed past a few boxes and banged on the sliding section of wall that separated the cargo area from the cockpit. It snapped open almost instantly.

"You see that?" Jak demanded, even as he saw even more tails raining from the sky over the driver's shoulder.

"They're everywhere." The driver - a Wastelander judging by the tattoos running along his hairline - looked very unhappy with the situation. "I'm pretty sure a few hit Spargus directly."

"How far away are we?"

"Ten minutes. Maybe less, if this POS tub doesn't fall out of the sky first. All the eco is fucking with the NavSys, and the hover circuits... I'd bet my first wife that Kleiver hasn't been keeping up with their maintenance, either."

Jak's lip quirked up.

"First wife, huh?"

"Yeah. I kinda like my second one."

The haze in the distance cleared slightly, grudgingly revealing Spargus' skyline of defensive cliffs, a lone tower the only break in the disguise. The tip of the tower was lit, and flashing.

"Call to arms." The driver identified. "Shit. You should brace yourself, I'll be puttin' this thing down hard and fast."

Jak just nodded, eyes intent on his new-found home.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Spargus under attack had a whole different energy to Haven.

In Haven, during the breech over a year ago, the streets were clogged with panicked or dying civilians, scattered and uncoordinated guards and a mess of Metal Heads.

Here, there _were_ no civilians. There may have been technical non-combatants, but those men and women who served Spargus in other ways knew enough to keep their heads down and get out of the way.

About a quarter of the shield wall was just _gone_, a Dark Satellite - or something like it - buried in the remaining rubble. It wasn't dead, like the one the monks had investigated before. This one writhed like a with life, pinpoint lasers emitting from the tips of its tentacles which sliced through everything they touched. Every inch of its exterior was coated in a metal that turned aside rifle fire like it wasn't even that. As a handful Wastelanders dodged the lasers and closed in, its sides folded open and spilled a mess of tiny buzzing bugs to the ground. Half of the bugs unfolded wings and took to the air, the rest washed over and under the desert soil like an unstoppable wave rippling out in all directions.

Since most Wastelanders favoured rifles for power and precision over the long distances found in the wasteland, they were ill-equipped to deal with such tiny, numerous enemies. Two of them fell screaming almost immediately, clawing and shooting at their own legs as the bugs either burrowed into them or crawled up them.

Jak had bailed from the back of the shuttle as soon as it was close enough that he could survive the fall. It only took a second to switch gun modes and prep a charge, then he fired a peacemaker blast of energy directly into the main body of the satellite, through the open hatch and frying its insides. The machine twitched and jerked, great metallic tentacles smacking bluntly against the sand and crushing a few of its own creatures before it fell still.

Still falling, Jak had just enough time to fire another round into the thickest patch of bugs - which did very little damage, as the sand around them made it harder for the energy to spread - before he switched back to scatter mode and hit the ground with a crunch of dead bugs and a surge of harvested Dark Eco.

He fired and leapt clear of the tiny killers already swarming him. His first shot successfully killed a good chunk of them - they were incredibly fragile, but _damned_ fast and dangerously numerous - and he landed just to the side of a man and woman who didn't bat an eye at his entrance.

"Cover me!" The woman bit out, dropping back a bit as she set the butt of her rifle on the ground. Jak and the other man moved seamlessly to do so, stepping forward and to the side slightly to prevent anything getting past them.

Behind them, the woman fumbled with her weapon for a good twenty seconds before yelling "Switch!" and trading places with the other Wastelander as smoothly as a choreographed dance.

She'd changed the barrel of her gun, Jak noticed. The red eco power source was the same, but instead of a long-range bolt of focused energy, it was now a spread wave similar to his own scatter gun except narrower and with even less range.

Still, it was better than what they'd had before and between the three of them they cleared the area of metal heads.

There were no telling how many bugs had just plain evaded or ignored them, however.

"Good idea, kid." The woman panted. "I'll pass it on." She strode off, gun resting easy in the crook of one arm as she tugged out a comm and started talking. The man followed her, meeting Jak's eyes and clapping him sharply on the shoulder before he left.

Jak barely had time to nod back before a monk slipped out from between two narrow buildings and approached him.

"Prince Mar." The white-painted man acknowledged him, as though it was common, every-day knowledge. "Seem requires urgent assistance at the market crescent."

Jak blinked and nodded, trying to recall the city layout from his few wanderings.

"That way." The monk added, pointing helpfully, before dashing off with unexpected speed to assist a Wastelander down the road who was struggling to get enough space to adjust his own weapon.

Jak ran, wishing he had either his jet board or even a scrap of light eco left. He felt almost... _weighed down_ as he ran at normal speed. The sensation wasn't helped the few times he found himself literally _wading_ through wads of dark eco remains. His body was still absorbing it like the eager addict it was and a couple of times Jak found himself temporarily forgetting where he was going and why, too distracted by the call of violence all around him.

And wow... Wastelanders were _violent. _

Out of the corner of his eye he saw one man descend on a Dark Satellite with a massive spear, jabbing it viciously into the machine's unprotected insides, yanking the barbed blade out each time amidst arcs of purple energy and chips of alien metal.. The insulated handle protected him from the dark eco crackling throughout the machine and it wasn't long before the single-minded assault killed it for good.

Several men and women had traded their rifles for machine guns similar to his vulcan, and were mowing down waves of bugs with smiles that were pretty close to psychotic.

Precursors... these were _his kinda people_.

Even the designated _medics_, on their way to aid fallen Wastelanders, slaughtered the bugs that got too close with savage determination.

Finally, Jak made it to the marketplace. It was the biggest in the city, right on the shore and one of the most protected (from land) locations.

The remains of a Dark Satellite were visible just off-shore, being slowly crushed by several massive fleshy tentacles. It seemed the ocean life didn't like Metal Heads either.

"Jak!"

Jak turned at the familiar voice. In the center of the market stood Seem, waving him over. Surrounding her were a circle of placid-faced monks, hands pressed out as they maintained a steady dome of light eco around them. The dome massacred any Metal Bug which got too close. He joined her, shivering a little as the protective circle of eco washed over and through him.

"What do you need?" He asked, a little confused. It sure didn't seem like they were having any _problems_.

"This vent, opened." Seem gestured to her feet, where a round piece of metal apparently capped a vent. The cap itself was adorned with an oddly twisting image, more an icon than a picture. A concept.

"How? Same as the other?"

"No. This one requires light eco, only. But.." Seem demonstrated the problem, sending some eco at the seal. One line of the icon lit up.

"Each line is like a lock." Seem explained calmly, as though they _weren't_ surrounded by invading enemies. "Each lock can only be _unlocked_ after the prior. However..."

The eco-lit line faded abruptly.

"Even with each of us standing by, ready to unlock the next line as soon as possible, we cannot finish quickly enough." The monk shrugged gently. "This has been a puzzle and a challenge for generations - but now we have you. You, whom Mar seemed to know would come and provided for your exact circumstances. I believe that if it _can_ be done, you are the one."

Jak studied the vent cover. Considering his new light power affected time - or his perception of it - he rather thought that Seem was right. This vent _had_ been made for him, to be opened by him.

But...

"Why now?" He asked. "Can't it wait till after the invasion?"

Red eyes narrowed, not angry, but intent.

"This isn't an invasion, hero. These are just scouts." She looked up, hands flicking through symbols that glowed briefly. "Our current source of light eco is unfortunately underground. It is useful as a supply source, but cannot be used as a weapon in and of itself. We need this vent, Jak, if we are to survive the next wave."

"Okay." Jak replied. "I can help, but I need some eco first - I got tapped out back in Haven."

"We are low as well." Seem answered, looking slightly worried for the first time. Although there were Wastelanders scattered around the general area, the bugs had, by now, spread out through the entire city. The scatter guns that most Wastelanders had jury-rigged did the job better than their old weapons, but the bugs simply weren't dense enough to be kept an eye on all at once.

And all it took was one getting past your guard, burrowing into your flesh before you could stop it. Another, burrowing in as you got distracted by the first. The bugs moved like schools of sentient fish, aware of each other at all times, scattering and forming up in an instant with one single, shared goal.

If the monks gave Jak their eco, and he _couldn't_ open the vent...

The only physical weapons the monks had on them were simple and often blunt. Not impossible to kill with, but impossible to do so at any distance.

But this icon... it looked just like...

"I can do it." Jak promised, willing Seem to believe him.

This wasn't arrogance, this was knowledge. This was _fate_. He looked at the icon on the vent?  
And he just _knew_.

Wine-red eyes studied him, commanded him, trusted him.

"Very well."

Pale fingers flashed through another sequence of symbols and, without a word being spoken, every single monk spun on their heel to blast Jak with every scrap of light eco they had left.

And Jak, between heartbeats, opened the vent.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Damas made a mental note to find out who had been stationed on the coast gun when it had shot down the Dark Satellite aiming for the palace. Whichever Wastelander it had been, his or her quick thinking had spared the tower - and thus the bulk of their communications system. His Wastelanders were all seasoned fighters, but coordination was key to winning any battle - as evidenced by the simple message one woman had passed on regarding the modification of their guns. An invaluable piece of advice that would have come too late for some, had it been restricted to word-of-mouth dissemination.

Having the communication tower remain intact also meant that he was free to go out and do battle himself, reachable in an instant by comm, instead of being required to remain in one place so reports could be delivered as timely as possible.

Two Wastelanders followed in his wake, both of them acting as backup and communication officers, keeping track of the multiple lines of contact and forwarding to him only the most pertinent knowledge.

Such as how the shuttle which had identified itself as carrying Margo, a shipment of turrets and _Jak_, had been shot down during landing.

There was no word yet on whether his son had survived.

That was why he was on the streets instead of any of a half-dozen other vital locations. The infestation of Metal Heads _had_ to be his first priority. Such tiny things could nest far too easily. It was absolutely vital they they _all_ be hunted down and eradicated, as soon as possible.

Damas had never been the kind of man to ask his subordinates to do what he would not do himself, so it was not unexpected that he'd taken up arms and joined the hunt.

He was doing his part, in a purely coincidentally direct line to the shuttle port.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Seem stared. She could taste fine sand mixed with eco on her tongue and knew that her mouth must be open, but she couldn't spare the concentration to close it.

She had thought she'd known Jak, known more about him than the man knew himself. She'd thought his talent for light eco to be irrevocably damaged, for instance.

By the Great Ones, she had been arrogant.

Perhaps she had grown too used to the respect of her peers. Too used to being the gifted one, the devout one, the wise one. She had never stopped listening for the voice of her maker, but she seemed to have stopped listening to _herself_.

Self-reflection, one of the earliest and key disciplines of becoming a monk, and one she had begun to forget.

For the tainted creature she'd believed Jak to be _could not_ be the creature of light that now stood before her. Behind him the vent released pure energy into the world, but Jak stood isolated from it _and yet he burned with it_. It rippled from him just as it rippled from the vent, affecting the very world around him.

This was not like the moment of healing, of repair, that the young man had experienced in the catacomb. This was a part of him, _was_ him, emanated _from_ him.

She, all of her monks, they could _feel_ his presence like never before. No longer an enemy, but as close to godhood as their species could come. As close to their creators as they could come.

He looked at her, and she felt small. Young. A child once more, standing before the ancient master of Monks and wanting nothing more but to be part of a world she could barely comprehend.

"Master!"

One of the younger monks, Mira or perhaps Arlen, fell to their knees and fumbled through the greeting of student to teacher.

Seem didn't know whether to reprimand her or join her. Her mind was at war with itself. She _knew_ that Jak wasn't a monk - was almost the furthermost _thing_ from a monk, let alone a Master.

But he _looked_ like the living embodiment of what monks strived for, strived to become. The pinnacle of their order, the ultimate harmony with the forces of creation. When enlightenment - and therefore, the status of 'Master' was achieved - **this** was what it looked like.

Seem had felt that she was close to achieving it.

**Jak** already had.

_Perhaps_, she thought, slowly joining the younger monk on her knees, giving an identical greeting of student to master, _If I am to defeat my hubris, this may be the first step. Great Precursors, if this is your herald, I am listening._

Of course, upon seeing Seem - their leader in all but title since the last of their Masters perished - kneel and greet the Wastelander prince in such a manner, the remaining monks were quick to follow. In the midst of battle, it was surely a strange sight.

Even the expression of untouchable serenity on the inhuman face flickered, as Jak turned to stare at the circle of kneeling monks. His aura alone kept them safe from the Hora-Quan, which fled his presence.

Abruptly, the aura vanished. The light seemed to draw inwards, sinking deep into bone and revealing the flesh of the mortal within. The taint of Dark, once so pungent, was now barely detectable.

"Stop that!" The prince ordered, a little wildly. With gun in hand and skin slicked with the sweat and dirt of battle, he looked thoroughly _un_enlightened. Seem felt abruptly embarrassed, as though waking from a dream.

How could she kneel before _Jak_, a man she had seen use his Dark to murder _and_ _like it_.

_You bow before Veger._ A tiny voice whispered back. _Which is worse? A man lost to infection or a man lost to greed? Both are murderers. If you would bow to one, you must bow to the other._

She wanted to scream. She hadn't felt so conflicted in years. Time had dulled the fear and turmoil of stepping into her Master's shoes before she was ready. Age had hardened her to the pain of working with her Master's murderer. She had thought herself wise enough to put the well-being of the world before her own loss, before the justice due a man as evil as they came.

_Was_ she wise? Or was she a fool?

Her hands moved in the habitual prayer for guidance, even as she stood. Her monks followed her up, some slower than others. Awe lingered in their expressions, to varying degrees.

Seem locked her own expression down, feeling the Hora-Quan's diseased auras creep closer once more.

The battle, now. Existential crisis later.

"Draw your fill from the vent." She ordered her monks. "Then tend your designated areas. Remember to secure a line to _this_ vent above _all_ _else_! Once the line is secure, you may assist the Wastelanders as you wish. When everything is ready, I will signal the purge. Now go."

The monks gathered around the vent, never quite touching the Eco itself but pulling it towards their hands and guiding it into various orbs on their person. Mira's belt, Arlen's necklace, Yiyan's staff - those and more grew brighter and brighter until each monk could hold no more and left to do their duty.

Seem herself, who no longer needed an external container, remained behind.

Gathering herself - and her courage - she looked to Jak.

"The small Hora-Quan are weak - light eco will destroy them on contact. Once the last of the Satellites have been disabled, we monks will link with the vent and cleanse the city. As soon as that is done, we must work on activating the city's automated defence system. Now that you have opened the vent, it can finally be tested against the enemy."

"But the vent's been here since long before Spargus, right?" Jak questioned, absently keeping an eye on the increasingly scarce fighting. She wondered if he ever felt unsettled, to be a warrior hero amongst the people who least needed him.

"Yes." Seem nodded, tilting her head to see the tiny sparks of light thrown up by her monks as they secured their sections of the city. "The city was built around it, for the purpose of one day utilising it. King Damas is a wise man, with the foresight common to his line."

Jak snorted. "He didn't foresee Haven." He said caustically. "He didn't forsee-"  
He cut himself off, but Seem thought she knew what he'd been about to say.

"He didn't foresee what happened to you?" She finished. "He didn't foresee his wife's murder at the hand of a trusted ally. He didn't foresee your kidnapping, nor the repercussions of his decision to sever all ties with Haven - the decision that made _finding _you nigh on impossible."

Jak was silent.

"Then perhaps I should have said.." Seem ventured softly "That King Damas _used _to be a man with the foresight common to his line. Once, he was a King through blood right alone. His right to rule was unassailable, his only enemies existed outside the shield walls. Until, one day, they weren't. As he looked forward, he was attacked from behind. As he built into the future, his past was torn down. To be so betrayed - to be exiled from the city his own ancestor built - it was almost like dying. It was _intended_ to be a lethal blow, no doubt. But..."

She looked at Jak, saw the strength behind his gaze, saw how despite being consumed by Dark and Light in turn, he steadfastly remained _himself_.

"But he was like you." She finished. "He was strong. He survived. But, also like you, he was changed."

The final two lights were sent up and Seem stepped closer to the vent.

"I should not speak of such things." She admitted, more to herself than to Jak. "I am a monk, but I am also a citizen. Were it not for the King's strength, we monks would not be so strong either. I owe him respect, if not fealty."

"Then why do you?" Jak murmured behind her, as she reached for the Eco spilling into the world.

"I suppose..." She searched for the answer within herself, as diligently as she once had for her Master. "I suppose I just want you to understand. I tell you, so that you may understand _him_."

_So that you might find him, and him you. _She thought to herself, unwilling to speak aloud her most shameful secret.

_So that **I **might find peace for my actions. _

"You should go." She said instead, drawing the Eco into herself, centering her mind and quelling her emotions with the ease of practice. "The King is in the shuttle port. Find him, Jak. He needs you."

If there was a reply, she did not hear it. The thrum of light eco suffused her every cell, so much stronger and wilder than expected. It took everything she had to direct it, to fall back on the patterns of her training and link with her monks to flood the city with it.

It took the aid of the eco itself, conforming to her scattered thoughts and _guiding_ them to guide _it_.

By the time she pulled herself free and remembered who she was, the prince was gone.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Damas sat within the crashed shuttle. One wall had crumpled on impact and had been crudely cut entirely away. The cargo and driver had fortunately suffered only slight damage - the shuttle hadn't been far from the ground when a stray shot had removed its thrust.

Jak hadn't been there. The driver relayed a suicidal jump by the young Wastelander, but knew nothing more. Damas could only hope his son had survived the fall - so he could bend his ears back later.

When the wave of light eco had unexpectedly filled the city, Damas had relaxed, knowing who was responsible.

Jak.

Mar.

His son.

Though it was certain that the monks were involved, his boy had always been a catalyst of incredible events. It was one of the reasons he'd named his son for their infamous ancestor.

Knowing that the eco wave would have destroyed the remaining Metal Heads, Damas had instead turned his attention to the next concern - rebuilding (and upgrading) their defence system. His aides relayed his orders and the replies efficiently even as they began to unload the turrets for inspection.

Damas himself just waited. He hadn't ordered his son's presence, but he knew he didn't need to.

Jak had left Chubby here, after all.

Sure enough, within minutes of the eco wave that cleared the city, Jak appeared out of nowhere in a flash of blue-white light. It startled his aides enough to grab their weapons, though thankfully they also recognised him quickly enough to put them back down, before his son - who was eying them with his own gun _already_ in hand, finger on the trigger - shot first.

He didn't know whether to be proud or irritated. Considering his son was now a teenager, it was _probably_ normal to feel both.

"Son." He greeted, then blinked.

He hadn't meant to say that.

Jak looked shocked, something almost vulnerable in his expression before he got himself under control.

"Dad." His son replied, the word an act of courage, of a challenge met more than anything else.

Damas didn't look to see his aides' expression. It was going to have to come out somehow. He was sick of being stubborn.

He wanted his son back.

"I'm glad you're alright." He said inanely, momentarily scrambling for what he'd wanted to say beyond _I'm sorry for my behaviour, I've missed you, you'll always be my son even when you're a stranger, I love you even though I barely know you._

"Yeah." Jak said, a reflection of awkwardness. "Uh, Me too. You."

"And, I'm sorry. About Chubby." Damas added, a thorn of sorrow in his own heart over the crocodog's fate. He remembered the day his infant son had found the wild puppy, remembered how he'd been all for shooting the animal before his wife had laughingly forbidden him.

His baby boy and the tiny crocodog had grown up together. The animal had made its way alone through the Wasteland on foot, to find his son. The dog had done what Damas could not, finding and keeping little Mar safe.

And now...

Jak went still.

"What are you talking about?" He asked, demanded, even as he pushed past his father, eyes searching the shuttle wreck and the ground around it. He found what he was looking for a second later, the little crocodog's body curled up impossibly small in the corner.

A crate had fallen on him at some point during the crash. A crate containing a turret.

Blood flecked the dog's mouth and the ground around it. It looked dead, at first glance.

"His ribs are crushed." Damas said softly, wanting to put a hand on his son's shoulder in comfort, but uncertain as to his reception. "At the very least. If we move the crate, he will die quickly. If we leave it, he will die a little slower. I thought the decision should be yours."

Jak didn't respond, not even a twitch of body language giving away his thoughts or emotions. Only his breathing changed, became tight with grief - or anger.

"Isn't there a healer - for animals?" His son said at last, voice low and rigidly controlled. "Or any healer with access to green eco."

"Yes." Damas admitted. "We keep animal stocks within the cave system. But-"

There was a surge, a roar, of Dark. Before Damas could do more than stagger away from it, the crate crushing the crocodog was snatched up and hurled _through_ the remaining shuttle wall. The crate exploded into a cloud of splinters and the turret shattered as it hit the shield wall outside. Before the pieces even hit the ground, however, the Dark was subsumed by an even stronger surge of Light. Faster than Damas could blink, both his son and the dog were simply gone.

The sheer power behind his son's abilities was frightening. And yet, despite being at ground zero, Damas didn't feel frightened.

He just felt sad. And hopeful.

And, for the first time in three years, he prayed to the Precursors who'd abandoned them.

_Please, don't take anything more from him._

**J&D J&D J&D**

So yeah. A lot of little loose threads have finally been anchored to the main plot! I've alluded to a couple of different things in this chapter. It'll be interesting to see just how obvious my attempts at subtlety turn out to be. :)


	12. Chapter 12

I just wanted to say _thanks again_ to everyone who reviews this story. All my old ficcer friends are either out of the business or not J&D fans, so this story really only grows when inspiration is triggered by your feedback. Not even inspiration-ideas so much as inspiration-flow, you know? So thank you.

I think this is the biggest chapter so far. Once again, stuff I wanted to include had to get pushed back. At least this is the last chapter without Daxter! I missed him so much I had to keep rewriting scenes in which he somehow snuck in!

Apologies for any spelling errors. I'm locked up in a temporary flat with only an ancient laptop that doesn't believe in English spell checking.

**Chapter 12**

The world tinted blue.

Not the fresh, white-blue of Light eco, but the purple-blue of a bad bruise.

He wondered if he was damaging the world, every time he did this. If, should he do it for too long, the world would seep blood or fall apart.

It was a strange existence when dislocated from time. He ran, as fast as he could, but _felt_ like he was pushing through water. Not a mass of it like in the ocean but thousands upon thousands of still sheets, each of which passively resisted his speed.

Or maybe it was all in his head. Seeing the men, women and monsters all around him move and work and die in slow motion was probably affecting his senses. All he knew was that though he might _look_ fast... he _felt_ slow.

He ran through streets that ebbed and flowed with the last dregs of battle, Wastelanders gathering the fallen of friend and foe alike. One man wept tears that hung in the air, kneeling in the blood of a friend or brother whose death had been violent and messy. A block further and a small family of Wastelanders picked through the ruin of their home, a tiny child clinging to his mother's leg as the woman cradled his head in one hand and held her gun with the other - guarding her husband and other child as they worked.

Eventually he reached the caverns, a tiny entrance opening into a massive network of reinforced caves. He knew they were used for all sorts of things, from storage to training to - apparently - keeping livestock, but he didn't know which was where or how to find it. So, as he he entered, he dug his heels in and came to a halt beside a young monk girl. He looked around before releasing his power. There were no animals, nor piles of stuff. It looked more like a low-key infirmary, much less cramped than the Underground's had been. High, hanging lights burned yellow eco - which provided the same comfort and health as the outside sunlight. Plants could - and were - thriving under it, various species laid out in lines and curls that acted as dividers for the rows of cots, instead of curtains. Large, fat-leafed plants nodded gently over smaller, spiky ones. At least some of them were medicinal - he recognised them from a childhood of hiding scrapes from Samos.

A good dozen cots were occupied by unconscious or wounded Wastelanders. Unfortunately, the cave seemed absent of either healers or useful signage, so he released the eco keeping him out of step with the rest of the world and turned to the girl moving in slow motion beside him. Time sped back up as he – to her – appeared suddenly and she yelped, dropping the bowl of hot water she was carrying. The full inch she jumped into the air probably hadn't helped her grip.

"I need a healer." Jak snapped urgently. He gave her a hard look up and down. The girl was young, but... "Are you the healer?"

"N-No." The girl squeaked, hands flicking through the air like the other monks he'd seen, but without the slight glow that always accompanied their gestures. "Then where can I find one?" Jak demanded impatiently, every second a second too long. Chubby wasn't even whimpering anymore.

"_What good would a healer do __**you**__, monster_?"

Jak turned before the voice behind him finished speaking, lips curling back and fingertips itching for blood. A man had emerged from a thicker growth of taller plants, a bundle of them held under one arm. His painted face was familiar.

"Bastard." Jak growled, even as his mind threw up the name Seem had given him all those weeks before.

Aiden. This man, this _monk_, was named Aiden.

Aiden, who had taken him from the throne room without permission for reasons that probably hadn't been altruistic. Whose absolute contempt – borderline hatred - for Jak hadn't been hidden, then or now. Of all the monks Jak had seen or spoken to, this one seemed the least worthy of the title. Hell, even the trembling girl behind him with her non-glowing hand signs and non-painted face made a better monk in his eyes.

Jak wondered if Damas _knew_ that this monk had absconded with his unconscious son and had forgiven it... or if Aiden had just stayed out of sight and nobody had yet mentioned it to their short-tempered king.

Whatever the reason, the monk was still alive and didn't seem to have lost an ounce of his grating attitude. The man transferred his glare from Jak to the girl until she hastily picked up her bowl and left at a trot.

"We meet again, monster." Aiden greeted snidely, as soon as she was out of earshot. "What are _you_ doing here? We can only heal the children of the Precursors. Humans, not abominations."

"Lucky for us both that _I_ don't need healing, then." Jak growled back, stamping down on his temper. He didn't have the _time_ to take offence, knock the man out and go looking for someone better. Chubby needed help _now. _

He held the crocodog out, the animal's caved ribcage easy to see. It was a miracle that the animal was still somehow wheezing along, stubbornly clinging to life the same way he'd stubbornly clung to Jak - in both incarnations - his whole life.

Aiden looked at the dog like he was being handed a bag of shit. The growl that tore from Jak's throat in response was nowhere _near_ human.

"_Are you a healer, or aren't you_?" He bit out. The monk shot him a nasty look which melted swiftly into smugness as he slowly realised that Jak actually _cared_ about the animal dying in his arms. That he had, however small, a degree of power over the blonde man.

"I am a monk, monster." He replied, smiling with only his lips. "I am charged with the _destruction_ of Dark Eco abominations - not helping them."

Jak swallowed back a lazy curl of **Dark**. There was no voice in his head actively _suggesting_ that he change form and see if a fist full of claws changed the bastard's mind, but the idea was nevertheless very prominent.

Luckily, he had enough sanity to know that the first flicker of _Dark_ in this place would have every Wastelander - wounded or not - reaching for their weapons.

But what else could he do? _Chubby needed help. __**Now.**_

Before the ache in his gums could manifest into actual fangs, a small cough politely broke their standoff.

The monk(?) girl was back, sans bowl. Now that he was looking directly at her, he realised that she probably wasn't a monk at all. She had the weird rubber bodice and shaved head but absolutely no makeup, markings, accessories or other rubbery bits of clothing. Instead, sensible Wastelander pants were tucked into leather boots and a basic medic's belt rested on her hips.

She was young. As young as Keira had been, back before this whole thing started and Jak had never even _heard_ of the term 'dark eco'. She was also rising from a deep bow with an expression of respectful resolution.

"Please excuse me, but I volunteer. I have basic eco proficiency, know most basic medicines and have dealt with impact damage on kangarats and leapers. I believe I can tend to the animal, sirs."

Aiden eyed her, irritated despite her respectfully downcast eyes, but a low cry from a wounded Wastelander drew his attention away. "Very well." He waved them both off before pinning Jak with a malevolent look. "But you, monster, are not permitted to stay. Leave the animal and _begone_." The bastard didn't wait for a reply, instead striding back to the rows of wounded men and women. Apparently, being a monk didn't actually preclude him from being a healer as well, unless your name was Jak.

In his absence, the girl held out her hands.

Jak gently placed Chubby's damaged body into her arms, swallowing as the dog whined and licked his knuckles briefly during the transfer. "He needs some green eco." He said tightly, more than willing to go find - and steal - some himself.

"He will get it." The girl promised lowly, twisting and cocking her hip slightly to show a green-glowing bottle strapped to her belt, before turning completely and walking as briskly and gently as she could to lay Chubby down on a low wooden table out of sight of the bastard monk. She felt the animal's ribs with one hand and opened the bottle containing green eco with the other.

A flash of light and the dog's subsonic whimpers trailed off. His chest rose and fell more deeply.

The girl felt gently along his side once more, then put the bottle away.

"He should be alright." She said quietly, glancing around to make sure they were still alone. "But he needs to rest. His ribs will be fragile for a few weeks and his lungs have likely been partially compromised. He's still breathing, which is a good sign, but he'll need to be watched for complications for at least the next day or two."

Jak sighed, closing his eyes in relief.

"Can't you just give him some more eco?" He asked after a moment, opening his eyes. "I can replace whatever you use, if there's a rationing issue."

The girl frowned and finally looked away from her patient to make eye contact.

"No... it. It can't be used anymore." She said haltingly, slowly, like she was reminding someone that they needed to breathe in order to stay alive. Like it was obvious. "His body is small, the amount I used has already saturated it. He won't be able to absorb more until this batch has passed from his system."

Jak echoed her frown. _He_ didn't have an issue knocking back green eco. But... What she said _did s_ound familiar. A lot of his memories from before Haven were damaged - either the result of dark eco or the more pedestrian result of two years of trauma - but one of Samos' favourite forms of punishment during his childhood had been lectures. Between Daxter's nose for mischief and his own tendency to jump in feet first... well.

There had been a _lot_ of lectures.

There had been one time, though... he remembered Dax's arm in a sling, his best friend milking the injury as much as possible with everyone in the village – except Samos, of course. They'd both been injured, but Jak had walked out of Samos' hut without a scratch. He hadn't really thought about it at the time – just sort of subconsciously assumed that Samos had been tired after, or teaching a harsh lesson, or that Dax's injury had been more severe than his own. In hindsight... Dax had _never_ bounced back from injury the way Jak had. He'd always needed a few days, minimum, of treatment. Jak had healed almost instantaneously because he had the _capacity_ to absorb large amounts of eco, something unique to him – and sages.

That was a thing of the past, of course. Now, the only eco his body could handle in any large amount was Light and Dark. Even Green, an eco which healed every living thing in the world, made him break out in a rash. It still _worked_, but it was almost like he'd developed a low-level allergy to it. The side effects worsened the more saturated he was with the Dark – which made sense, considering Green eco had used to be used to negate Dark Eco contamination, minor as it had been in the old days.

"I understand." He said eventually. Ever since his change of species, Daxter could handle levels of Eco that put Jak at his best to shame, but that had just made it easier for Jak to forget that they were the exception, not the rule. He couldn't afford to continue forgetting it, though. Not anymore. Not when he had more and morepeople depending on him. People who, despite everything, _mattered_ to him.

"Thank you." He added belatedly. The girl just nodded, hovering awkwardly as though she wasn't sure what to do next. She kept glancing up at him, then away, refusing to meet his eyes for more than a split second. Something about her obvious nerves caught on the jagged edge of his perpetual low-key paranoia.

"Why did Aiden let you help?" His mouth asked before his brain could catch up. Colour spread up the girl's cheeks, splotchy and unattractive.

"...He believes me a failure." She said at length, words wrestled from deep within. "Beneath notice. But I will prove my worth." Her shoulders hunched a little and she turned her back at last, body curling over the weary crocodog. "To everyone."

Jak's comm crackled before he could reply, a Wastelander passing on a command to attend an immediate meeting in the palace. Jak looked again to his loyal dog, lying lax beneath the hand of a stranger.

"He will be well." The girl promised softly, sensing or guessing his thoughts - or perhaps just wanting rid of him. "Return for him tomorrow."

Jak nodded sharply and, before he could convince himself not to, triggered his Light and left.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Damas very deliberately did not sigh as the Spargus Council gathered in his throne room. Now, more than ever, he had to be the pillar of strength for his people. There hadn't been an all-out attack like today's since they'd left Haven city - and even then, the attacks had always come from nests within the desert, not the skies above them.

His monks had warned him of the omen that was the daystar and he had listened, but the vague warning hadn't been enough. If it hadn't been for Mar's incredible foresight – his ancestor, not his son – they could well have faced their destruction in this last battle. Generations ago, his ancestor had buried a light eco vent deep within the desert. A vent that was not marked on any map, a vent that had only been discovered by Damas when he'd first begun construction of the desert fortress.

A vent that could only be opened, so his monks informed him, by one man. One man who, by fate or Precursor intervention, just so happened to be in the right time and place. And age.

His son, unknowingly fulfilling his role as foreseen by their great ancestor. Fulfilling his role as prince of Spargus, by enabling his people to protect themselves.

Making a name for himself. Making a _hero_ of himself. Proving his worth to people who, very soon, would need more than rumours and reputation to go on.

He stood by the window overlooking his city as dusk fell, listening to the men and women that made up his new advising council speak amongst themselves. All were appointed to their positions only after demonstrating proficiency as well as trustworthiness. He'd learned his lesson from Haven. _This_ council had only the power he gave them, power which he retained the right to remove at any time. Far from the useless aristocracy of Haven, his new council kept their positions only so long as he allowed it.

He'd never give his men enough rope to hang him with again.

That said, he _did_ trust them with the powers he'd given them. He retained headship of the warrior class - Spargus' standing army, as it were - but everything else was filtered through, entrusted to, the men and women around him.

And, he turned at a flash of white light and startled oaths, to his son. Jak.

It was an incredible sight. To see a man step from nothing, wreathed in the power that had created the world... It was moments like these that gave birth to legends. Like the last time he'd appeared so abruptly, Jak did so with weapon in hand and every gun in the room within eyesight. In deference to the twitchy trigger-finger of others, he kept his morph gun pointed down.

"Goddamn monks." Miko, the head of infrastructure, growled her displeasure. Due to a genetic abnormality the woman's flesh - inside and out - was pitch black, something which had spurred violence against her from the lower echelons of the desert monastery for most of her life. She was therefore _not_ a fan of the monk order and – like any Wastelander - she was even _less_ a fan of being startled.

"He's no monk." Briar, his PA and head of supplies, snorted. The man had always been quick on the uptake and he'd been present for the awkward conversation between father and son in the shuttleport. Judging by the speculative look the man ran over his son, he had a good idea of just who Jak really was - if not how.

"Then piss off." Miko addressed Jak directly, assuming him to be just another gun.

But Jak wasn't just another gun, another Wastelander, and he never would be. There would be no better time than now to make that abundantly clear - to everyone, his son included.

"He stays." He said harshly, voice ringing through the room and drawing instant attention. He paced away from the window, moving to stand before his throne and stared down the startled members of his council. "His name is Jak, of the House of Mar. He defeated the usurper Baron Praxis. He destroyed the Metal Head leader, Kor."

He paused, taking in the freshly calculating looks around him. They'd all heard something about the mysterious 'Jak', the man who'd done what their king had failed to do.

He'd wager they hadn't heard _this_.

"He was _born_ Mar, of the House of Mar. My son."

The court erupted with noise - disbelief, accusations, suspicion, shock. Most of them knew that his son was younger than Jak. Not all of them knew _for sure_ that he didn't possibly have an earlier, older son by the same name.

Damas bit back a smile at the brief look of 'are you _insane_?' directed at him by his son, before settling the matter in the most expedient way.

He threw his staff to Jak - to _Mar _- who caught it reflexively, unthinkingly.

The staff erupted with light, reacting to the boy's lineage and eco-saturated blood. Rays of Light and Dark, Green and Red, Blue and Yellow, radiated through the room. This was the ultimate relic of their line's founder, the tool of the original Mar who had used it to build their species a stronghold of peace in the midst of war. The man who'd mastered every eco discipline there was, the man who was considered the closest their kind could come to their Precursor creators.

It was indisputable proof of his lineage. Of his relation to Damas. Of his position as Heir.

Before it, the council fell silent. One by one, they pressed their right fist over their hearts, acknowledging his blood, his status as prince. Sig, standing solemn in the shadows, chose to bow as well - tacitly conveying not only respect but also loyalty.

Slowly, the light faded. The first touch always caused the strongest reaction - and never again would the staff display all forms of eco at once. It left behind a man whose eyes still glowed a little with residual energy, even as he glared and tossed the staff right back.

Damas caught it and gestured for his son to come closer, to take his rightful place at his side. This was only the first step, of course. There would be challenges, there would be doubters. There would always be people who _chose_ not to believe, despite the evidence. But of the people here today, none could deny what they had witnessed. Jak, whatever his relation to Damas, was of royal blood. And Damas had publicly claimed him as son and heir.

The line of Mar would continue.

As Jak moved to stand by the throne, Damas sat. For a moment he couldn't breathe for the sense of _rightness_ that Jak's presence brought him. A rightness that had been absent ever since his wife had been murdered and his child stolen. His son was home once more. Different, a little damaged, but _alive_ and _strong. _

It was more than he'd dared hope for, for too long.

"Report." He ordered, and relaxed into his throne, his son and heir at his side.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Sig kept to the back of the room as the council reported. The damage to the walls, buildings and armaments. Repair predictions. Weapon, food and material supply levels. Injuries. Deaths.

By necessity, the meeting focused on the repercussions of the recent assault and preparations for future attacks, with all other issues tabled until the crisis passed.

Jak kept a sort of watchful silence, sharp blue eyes assessing without judging each Wastelander who spoke. It was a tightrope position Damas had put his son into - to appear strong, but not arrogant. To be deferential without seeming weak. Frankly, Sig thought his king was a damned idiot who was lucky that Jak's default expression fell somewhere between 'I am hearing what you say' and 'I can think of thirteen ways to kill you in under ten seconds'.

Then again, maybe that was also part of Damas' plan. Jak had obviously not been expecting the revelation - all of them could see that in his reaction to the staff and Damas' words. How a man reacted to the unexpected could tell you a lot about him - and Jak's reaction had been received mostly favorably. It was abundantly clear that the battle-hardened teen was confident in himself. He hadn't appeared shy or out of his depth in the court of the king. He hadn't appeared smug to be named their prince, nor even particularly interested.

Of course, that could equally be problematic. Wastelanders respected ability and action over titles, but a prince who didn't respect his own place in the hierarchy was disrespecting the people under him. Even as the council spread word of Jak's existence, they would watch to see if he conformed to their expectations of character and behavior If he deserved his position - and their respect. It wasn't an enviable position to be in, least of all for a warrior-prince out of his time.

It wasn't something that the Jak _he_ knew would enjoy. He'd be willing to lay some serious money on the blonde powder-keg laying a royal beatdown on _someone_ before the end of the month. Maybe his opinion was biased, but he just couldn't see the heavily-armed youth willingly conforming to _anyone's_ expectations.

Maybe not even his father's.

If there was one thing he knew about Jak, it was that his respect had to be earned.

And Damas? Damas hadn't had to prove himself in a long time.

Before long, efficient as Wastelanders tended to be, the meeting came to a close. Damas heard his council's reports and recommendations and handed out his decisions. The court bowed to him and left, some also nodding to their new prince. Soon only Sig, Damas and Jak remained. Alone now, Sig settled into a more comfortable position against the wall to watch the fallout.

"Couldn't have given me a heads up?" Jak asked his father sourly, more annoyed than angry. Damas shrugged. Son or not, the king wasn't about to defend every little decision he made.

Jak walked away from his position beside the throne, glancing at Sig before moving to stare down at one of the many pools of water.

"...You're diverting the turrets to Spargus, instead of the farm." The blonde noted after a moment. When Damas had instructed Miko to use the new automated turrets to bolster Spargus' defence, Jak's expression hadn't so much as twitched. Apparently, he'd passed the silent 'united front in public' test.

Damas glanced at Sig, something almost like wry resignation in his expression, then turned to his son.

"Yes. The shield wall was damaged. The coastline is inexcusably over-reliant on a single manned gun and the cliff walls have no artificial defences whatsoever. It wasn't an issue when faced only with Marauders, but things have changed." The king said evenly, face smooth and hard as stone once more.

Jak turned slightly, cutting his eyes to his father. He was conflicted, Sig realised. Just as conflicted as Damas secretly was. He agreed that Spargus could use more protection. But...

"At least Spargus has _some_ protection. The Farm has nothing at all - and, as you say, we have more than Marauders to worry about now." Jak pointed out, doing an admirable job of not sounding confrontational. Although the prince was conflicted, it was clear that he thought the defenceless farm warranted the turrets slightly more than a semi-defended Spargus.

"_Spargus_ has lives to lose." Damas said harshly, not one to back down after making his mind up. "Would you sacrifice men for food?"

"If the food was needed to keep those men alive?" Jak returned coolly, turning to fully face his father, posture adjusting in a hundred minuscule ways that spoke of strength restrained, but ready. "I'd trust the _armed warriors_ to watch their own backs."

For a split second, Sig fully expected Damas to shut Jak down as viciously as he would any other disrespectful Wastelander. The man's regal face was cold and closed-off, resolute and unforgiving.

Then, wonder of wonders, it eased. Tension in his old friend's shoulders slipped away, the man himself stepping back to recline on his throne - willingly putting himself in a more vulnerable position before his son.

"I agree." Damas said softly, unexpectedly. Sig's eyebrows rose and Jak looked a little wide-eyed himself, having clearly expected more of a fight. Damas' large, blunt fingers drummed the armrest of his throne restlessly as he and his son studied each other.

"Let me ask you this, Ma-Jak." The king said quietly, barely a hitch in his voice as he corrected himself. "Do you believe, truly, that the turrets you have procured could - on their own - successfully defend the farm from both Marauders _and_ the dark satellites we saw today?"

Damas caught and held Jak's gaze, authoritative but unchallenging. Before it, and just as incredibly, Jak's _own_ shoulders unwound a little. The teen sighed, one hand coming up to scrub at his face, his mouth.

"...No." He answered after a long moment. "Not if they attacked it directly. And the turrets' automated reaction to any unintended trespass would _draw_ an attack."

Damas nodded slowly, accepting and agreeing with Jak's assessment. Sig could see the flicker of relief in his eyes, that today, at least, would not be the day he and his son came to blows over a disagreement.

Knowing himself as he did, the king no doubt expected just such an event eventually. His son was just too much like him for it not to happen sooner or later.

"We don't have the supplies to withstand an all-out siege." Jak repeated part of Briar's report, quietly troubled. "And Seem said that what we saw today was just a scouting party. En route here, I saw those things come down in all directions – which means they're already infesting the desert and probably attacked Haven as well."

Damas expression shuttered. Haven was an open wound of a topic, one that most Wastelanders knew enough to avoid.

"...Spargus should be protected from infestation, with the addition of our new light eco defence system." The king replied after visibly biting back his first response. "Though teams will need to be sent out to locate and destroy any satellites that made landfall. The Marauders should serve as both distraction and, unwittingly, our first line of defence against the creatures. If nothing else, both groups will thin the other for us."

"And Haven?" Jak asked directly, making Sig cringe. Of all topics to get stubborn about.

Damas' eyes narrowed. His hand tightened around his staff.

"Haven can rot." Damas said with precise ice. "The council took command of the city. Praxis' daughter took command of the council - it's her problem, not mine."

Sig expected Jak to have something sharp to say to that, knowing as he did that the blonde had somehow made _friends_ with the daughter of the man who had tortured him, but instead the teen just studied his father, quietly assessing him.

_Damn_ it gave him chills. The look on his face was just like...

Damas sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Clearly, 'the look' was just as effective coming from his son as from his wife.

"What do you want me to say, Jak? I was banished. The one positive repercussion of that is that Haven's problems are no longer _my_ problems - I have enough to worry about with Spargus, don't you think?"

There was a long pause and Sig was just starting to calculate how quickly he'd need to move to break up the oncoming fistfight when the sound of an incoming call broke the silence. Jak blinked and dropped a hand to where his comm hung on his belt, just as the most obnoxious voice in the world sang from it in a chorus of static.

"**Jak**? C'nya hear me?"

"Daxter?" Jak queried, baffled.

"Daxter." Sig groaned, shifting forward to stand at Damas' side. It was probably better to be close by if this conversation covered the topics he thought it would.

He was Damas' spy in Haven for a reason. He still had connections in the city and he'd still _been_ in the city when the first stirs of Jak's localised coup had rippled through the population. Call him a coward, but he hadn't been eager to report to his banished king that the man's son was in the process of regaining command of his lost city.

Especially since he doubted that Jak himself quite realised the long-term repercussions of his actions. If the kid succeeded and successfully kept all the people under his protection safe during the city's internal crisis – let alone getting it sorted himself, as he half expected – there was no way that the citizens involved would allow him to fade into obscurity once more. The downtrodden and powerless had found a champion in Jak, and their lost prince had found a powerbase in _them_.

He didn't know how the little orange rodent had managed to contact Jak all the way from Haven, but the odds of their discussion _not_ spilling the revolutionary beans was low to non-existent.

"_Are you alright?_" Both boys demanded of each other.

"I'm fine." Jak replied first. "Did any of the satellites hit Haven?"

"Sure did." Sig had never heard the ottsel sound so _tired_. "Torn estimated at least six, not counting any that landed in the Agricultural or Stadium districts."

"And the Port?" Jak asked sharply. Damas silently watched him, expression focused – not concerned with his old home's fate so much as Jak's connection to it now.

"Still standing." Daxter quipped wearily. "One hit the water and sunk like a freakin' rock. Flailed around with lasers a bit, but a couple'a depth charges taught it some manners. Another hit a roof in the industrial zone, right near us. It was kinda freaky when it started dragging itself around, but our favourite explosion-happy criminal and his pals got it down for the count eventually."

"Three people died in the attempt." A second, female voice added unexpectedly. From the crisp professionalism, Sig was guessing a guard of some sort. "All civilian volunteers. I apologise, sir."

Jak frowned darkly at the ground. Not angry, just... intent.

"Jinx's men?" He asked. Sig almost snorted out loud. The idea of Jinx and his crew voluntarily taking orders, from _Jak_ no less...

"Yes, sir." The woman confirmed. Sig almost swallowed his tongue in shock. He'd known the chain-smoking man hadn't _minded_ Jak, but the two hadn't had much contact even _before_ Krew died. Why the hell would he be taking orders from him now?

"Was it due to your actions?" Jak asked calmly. The woman hesitated.

"We... failed to adequately protect them, sir. However, they _did_ deploy without informing us – and refused orders to evacuate once we arrived."

Jak sighed. "Then you did what you could, Captain." He said briskly. "And they died doing what they chose to do. You're _certain_ the satellite has been deactivated?"

"Yessir, unless it can continue operating in a hundred separate pieces – although the tiny spawn it dropped have mostly eluded us."

Jak's brow creased sharply, even as Daxter came back on the line.

"Don't worry, Jak – I used to _live _in the nooks and crannies of Haven. I've got paranoid crazies with welding torches and cement sealing up anything bigger than a crack, right now."

"Though that still leaves the rooftops." The woman added smoothly. "I've put extra eyes up there, but I wouldn't even call the defence 'adequate' let alone 'good'. Especially at night. Sir, we're basically sitting ducks for those things any time they get it into their heads to come over the buildings at us."

"Is there a light eco vent in the city?" Jak directed at the king who, stone-faced, shook his head. Jak chewed his lip as Daxter took over the reporting. Under the cover of his strident voice, Damas quietly asked what the hell was going on – and why it seemed to be Jak's problem.

_Hoo boy_.

Sig gave him the short version of what he knew – the Metal Head infestation. The rogue Death Bots. The frightened and trapped citizens. Jak, stepping forward take command, his infamy and low connections unexpectedly working for him.

He hadn't realised that any guards in the area were _also_ following his orders, though. Nor that, apparently, the Bots and Metal Heads were working together. _That_ was obvious from the woman's reports of synchronised attacks on all barricades. Someone, somehow, had given Haven city's primary defence force over to the enemy.

"Incompetence?" Damas murmured too low for the comm to pick his voice up. _Jak_ glanced up, demonstrating that his senses were still preternaturally sharp, and frowned slightly.

"I doubt it." Sig answered for the blonde, his voice just as quiet as Damas'. "Red's pretty sharp, if you ignore how much power she let the council wrest from her."

"A change in command for the Bots could only come from the Weapons Factory." Damas countered. "Who else but the Baron's family had access to that place?"

Jak took advantage of a pause in his own conversation to ask just that question. After a slight, startled pause, the woman replied.

"The Governor formally gave up the keys to the factory when she took power, sir. Something of a goodwill gesture in exchange for keeping sole right to command Haven's militia. Officially, the city has the keys – meaning the Council – but no one person or family has formal control."

For a split second, Jak and Damas' expressions of irritated disbelief perfectly mirrored each other.

"So the power was given to a group of people, with no accountability for any of them?" Jak muttered in disgust. There was another tiny pause.

"...Yes, sir. It seems that may be the case." Another pause – hesitation? "If so, it would explain why Governor Ashelin hasn't simply shut the factory down, sir. Legally, she can't."

"Right." Jak remarked, dry as the desert. "I'm starting to get how that works. Or doesn't."

The woman cleared her throat.

"Sir, on an unrelated note, I would like to confirm that the hellcat assigned to the Port squad is primed and ready to go at any time. It has not, as yet, been needed to assist in repelling the assaults – though that may change should the assaults continue to grow in intensity."

Jak grinned, a shock of white teeth against tanned Wastelander skin.

"Duly noted, Captain. Thank you."

"Sir."

"Aww, whyntch'uu two getta room?"

"Shut up, Dax."

Damas, Sig saw from the corner of his eye, was almost _smiling_.

"Alright." Jak was saying in the background. "I've just got to sort one last thing out here and then I'll head in to, uh. Check on that hellcat."

Damas' almost-smile abruptly vanished.

"Listen, Dax, I've had an idea about the Agri sector. Grab Keira and see if you can't track down Samos for me, will you?"

"Hey, yeah, where _has_ that old lump of fungus scuttled off to?" Daxter screeched indignantly, making the bad connection even worse. "Loafing around whilst you'n'me do all the work, as _usual_."

"Maybe he's been working on the problem." Jak suggested unconvincingly, clearly not believing his own words. "Whatever, Dax – if he gives you any trouble, just sic Keira on him. She's been working way too hard to put up with any slacking from her dad, Sage or not."

"I'm on it, Jak." Dax shot back, still tired but a little more cheerful. "You just get your butt back here, pronto. There's a rumour going around that Ashelin had you arrested. I mean, I've been trying to tell people that she just abducted you for her harem, but..."

Jak laughed as Daxter closed the connection. Knowing how rare a genuine laugh from Jak was, Sig was reluctant to do anything to break the mood.

Damas had no such qualms.

"What do you mean by returning to Haven?" The king demanded sharply. "Your place is here, with me."

Jak turned sharply, startlement melting swiftly into annoyance.

"Since when?" He growled

"Since I acknowledged you as Heir to my throne!" Damas bit back, standing once more. Jak outright scowled.

"I didn't ask you to do that." He shot back. Sig swore inside his head as the two locked horns _again_.

"Regardless, you have been named prince." Damas replied implacably. "You have duties, now. Responsibilities. To Spargus."

"And to Haven." Jak returned, whip-quick and just as unforgiving.

"HAVEN THREW US OUT!" Damas roared, old pain stripped raw. "It's NOT our problem!"

Jak's face set. Unyielding as his father's.

"It's not _your_ problem." He replied steadily. "I'm _making_ it mine."

As quickly as his temper had risen, it seemed to be ebbing away. Jak looked at his father – his king – and seemed to see _into_ him the way only his mother had ever managed. He saw to the heart of Damas' fury, even if he didn't understand it all.

Jak sighed.

"D-Damas. 'Haven city' _isn't_ an entity. It can't be blamed for what happened to you." He said as gently as any Wastelander could. "You were betrayed by greedy men with too much power - and they succeeded because you never saw them coming. 'Haven' didn't do it. Haven's people didn't take a vote on whether they wanted to evict their king in the middle of a war. _Precursors_, after you were gone the Baron had to keep armed soldiers on the streets to 'keep the peace' afterward. He put more energy into keeping the people down than he did defending them. I don't think he'd have felt the need to do that, if he thought the people of Haven agreed with his actions."

Damas flinched back a step. Jak softened a little further.

"Look," He continued. "I'd be a hypocrite to say that I didn't hate... well, pretty much everyone, for a while there. Especially Haven's citizens. _Especially_ right after I escaped from prison. I'd spent two years losing myself and my sanity one treatment at a time and outside the walls of my cell was a city full of people who didn't care – who lived miserable, mean little lives, just trying to survive each day in a war that never ended. I was terrified of getting put back in the program, furious at myself for being afraid and I _hated_ beyond _belief_ every single person that made me fearful. Not just the guards, but people who recognised me. People who ran from me, who drew attention to me. People who looked at me and who might report me later, who might not have _intended_ to make me too scared to find somewhere to sleep but still _did_. I even hated the people I helped, because they hadn't helped _me_ when _I _was in need."

He sighed, glanced over at Sig, then back to his father.

"But you know what? I _got over it_. It took an ottsel slapping the back of my head occasionally, it took my friends - old and new - standing by me, but eventually I figured out that hating the many for the actions of the few was just plain stupid - and it would only lead to making _more enemies_."

He paused and snorted wryly.

"It didn't mean I started loving the place. It still stank. It was still too-full of people, and guards. It was still run by a woman I admired but didn't always like very much. It was still full of crooks and desperate people, it was still flawed. But..."

He shrugged.

"I don't know. I guess, the more time that passes, the more potential I see in it. How it _could_ be, instead of just how it _is_. The people who still work hard and try to live a good life despite constant hardship and fear."

Sig watched both men. Jak, so steady and determined - calm and focused. In that moment, he looked every inch a prince. Damas, in contrast, looked shaken - for the first time since he'd gathered himself and his few most loyal and turned Spargus Fortress into Spargus City.

Abruptly, the tableau was broken. Jak looked somehow _sheepish_ as he rubbed his nose.

"..._Maybe_, I've been somewhat helped along by the fact that I'm currently in charge of almost half the city." He admitted. "It's hard to keep hating people when they need you so badly. And when they're so eager to help you help them. It's hard to hate the city when you start to know the citizens."

Damas breathed in, then out, slowly. He looked at his son – just _looked_ – and for the briefest of moments his eyes glimmered with moisture.

Then he blinked, King and In Control once more.

"Very well." He allowed quietly. "So long as the people of Haven recognise you as their rightful leader, I will not stand in your way. Haven shall formally be 'your problem', Jak."

For the first time, Jak looked uncertain. As Sig had expected, he hadn't truly gone into the situation in Haven as a prince of the House of Mar – just as Jak, doing what his conscience dictated. Now, he was faced with the repercussions of his actions impacting not just himself, but his father, his people and a world of politics he comprehended only enough to reject utterly.

"It won't take long to sort out." Jak said into the charged silence. "The weapons factory needs to be shut down or reset, which will remove half the problem. I think I might have a way to clear the Agri sector as well, which will allow people to go back to their homes and Ashelin to concentrate on enemies from outside the walls only."

"And what will you do then?" Damas asked. Sig knew the man was leading Jak to accept that had a place – a duty – to Spargus. That if he gave up Haven to Ashelin, there would be no going back. Jak, being Jak, didn't answer with anything either man could possibly have expected.

"Then, I'm going to find the last two Eco Crystals needed to activate the planetary defence weapon." The prince of Spargus and Haven replied serenely, focused and sure once more.

"And then I'm going to save the world."

_**J&D J&D J&D**_

Another chapter down. Infinite thanks for your patience with me. :) I'm excited to finally, almost, n.e.a.r.l.y be on the downward slope to the end.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry for incorrect wording in the last chapter. What I referred to as the 'weapons factory' was, of course, the floating 'war factory'. Not to be confused with the ground-based weapons factory seen in Jak II. I am referring to the bot-manufacturing plant, not the bomb-manufacturing plant.

Okay, during the hundreds of years of warfare, there must have been some severe topological damage. If you match up the forest temples from Jak 1 and 3 (ignoring that they don't look the same, for now) and Samos' hut, then the Pumping Station matches up to Geyser rock. Of course, if you ignore the temple and just try to match Samos' hut, coastline and/or mountain range then the city shrinks to an improbable size.

I'm going to continue to assume that the Forest Temples are the same building, just maybe different parts exposed over the years or built upon or whatever. Because the jungle and Samos' hut match up well to the Agricultural area/forest + Samos' hut in the future. That handily puts the mountain range behind the city as well. It also contradicts a bunch of other stuff but ARGH I DON'T CARE, I DON'T I DON'T! Sorry guys, please just roll with everything even remotely geographical. :)

_J&D J&D J&D_

Coming into Haven by air, Jak could see plumes of smoke all throughout the city.

The satellites that had come down had done more damage than he'd expected. Haven didn't have a population which reacted to threats with violence. The time between impact and arrival of security forces was _too much _time when each satellite was capable of massive structural damage.

In addition, stretched thin as they were, many satellites would probably have been allowed to run rampant. The Port guard couldn't risk going too far from their jury-rigged base and New Haven would have worked from a priority list with themselves at the top.

Clearly, the satellites had been working from a priority list as well. The Industrial sector bore too much damage for coincidence, the uppermost floors of the palace were just _gone_ and at least two large explosions had punched holes in New Haven's sector. The satellites themselves may not be able to move around easily, but their lasers were many and packed a serious punch. All they'd needed to do was aim carefully before hitting the ground and then let loose.

He frowned and moved to look out the opposite window as the shuttle swung around.

The Agricultural sector was a teeming mass of bile-green and dark eco. What looked like a trench of putrid liquid cut straight down the middle of it. The remains of the West Bazaar - most of it having been torn down to increase the Agricultural sector on Ashelin's order - was now a massive pile of rubble. Jak had known that Ashelin had collapsed buildings to seal the Agri-sector off once the contamination became known, but he hadn't realised she'd been quite so thorough about it at the other end. The good news was that the northern Agri-sector seemed to be okay. His preternatural vision couldn't pick out any Metal Heads or dark eco from here, in any case.

The only current entry to the northern Agri-sector, however, was through the Stadium sector. The sector that was, last he'd heard, overrun with Death Bots.

It was all a mess, problem after problem stacked on top of each other. Only a week ago Jak and Ashelin had locked horns over what seemed, now, to be minor issues. But those issues had just been the tremors before the avalanche. Now, Haven City had been thoroughly invaded. Those fighting back couldn't hold out forever, not when more enemies could rain down from the sky and spawn within their walls.

Jak needed to find the last two keys, he needed to collar Seem and get from her the information she'd apparently only entrusted to _Veger_ and he needed to somehow stem the flood of enemies in his way before he could even begin to do anything else.

Easiest first. The floating war factory was the ultimate source of the bots plaguing the city. Ashelin had to have some sort of override code for it and if she didn't, Jak had learned a little something about deconstructing problematic installations from Jinx.

It mostly involved high explosives.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Ashelin of the House of Praxis had a migraine to end all migraines.

How had things fallen apart so quickly? She'd been so _careful_ in her manipulation of council members and tangled laws. She'd worked so hard to evade their grab for power and _she'd been succeeding_ for almost a year. She'd had losses, of course, but they'd come hand in hand with worthwhile victories. She'd retained military power, provided employment through the revitalisation of the worst quarter of the city and been well on her way to expanding the agricultural output to the point where none would have to go hungry for want of supplies.

She'd danced skillfully around her enemies in the council and yet been blinded by the very familiarity of the battleground she knew so well. Words and political weight, threats and money and compromises and alliances - these were things she knew.

_Traitors_ were not. What noble would open their city to the enemy, after all? A criminal like Krew had holdings in other cities whereas the nobles' wealth and status would vanish without Haven. And yet, a traitor within their ranks there must be. _Someone_ had to have stolen the access cards for the war factory, someone who knew where they'd been stored and had the power to get to them _and_ cover their tracks afterward.

It all came back to 'who'. _Who_ _would do this_? Why? What had she missed? What _else_ had she missed, beyond this? How could she fix this?

How could something that had been going so well, now be failing so utterly?

The bright lights and frantic noises of HQ had only driven home her failure to predict, to plan for, to recover. Her men were scattered and dying, defending only a quarter of the city - the newest, glossiest sector full of frightened nobles and merchants - and making suicide runs to try and take back what hadn't been breached for over 400 years.

Until the House of Praxis had usurped the throne.

Until the line of Mar had been broken and the city's constant war became a losing one, one battle at a time. Her Father had allowed the beautiful Coastal sector to be overrun and destroyed, falling back behind a secondary shield wall and sealing out civilians and soldiers alike to be slaughtered, leading to the sector's new moniker - 'Dead Town'. The defeat had cost him political strength and public face, leading to his more brutal methods of keeping control and driving his people to fuel greater war efforts.

The sting of such a massive failure had also birthed the Dark Warrior program. She, of all people, knew that her father had never been perfect. But, neither had he been evil. He'd just been a man possessed. A man who thought he knew best and drove _himself_ harder than he drove anyone else. A man who'd grown up in a war that generations of the House of Mar had failed to end, and so couldn't conceive them ever managing to do so in the future.

He'd had support, after all, when it came time to usurp. Some had supported him out of desire for power of their own, but others had truly agreed with his notions.

Fresh blood. New ideas. A better tomorrow.

Damas had been exiled, after all. Not murdered. It had almost been a bloodless coup, from what she understood.

And the Dark Warrior program... it had begun with volunteers from the Guard. Then, when none came out alive, volunteers from their most desperate citizens. Then, when those dried up too...

She swallowed tightly, Jak's unforgiving voice inescapable in her memory.

"_Sometimes you have to take people off the streets. People nobody'll miss. Whores. The homeless. Children."_

She'd known her father had moved on to using prisoners. She'd assumed they were either volunteers from within the prisons, to reduce their sentences, or were the worst of the worst and essentially deserved what they got.

After Jak had backed her against the wall, made her aware of just how frightening he could be without a lick of dark eco... Had said those words to her, so softly...

"_Sometimes... for the 'greater good'... you've gotta turn those people into monsters. Protect the many at cost of the few." _

Well, at first she'd been angry. She always reacted to fear with anger. But, after she'd calmed down she hadn't been able to prevent herself from looking into it. From proving to herself that Jak had been the exception, not the rule. That his words had been spawned from festering hate, not experience.

She'd failed.

It hadn't been blatant, there had been no issue or order for people to pick up their most defenceless citizens and bring them in for experimentation, but... all subjects were recorded by number and name. It was a simple thing to cross-reference those names with the Guard database, especially with her access level.

It was just like Jak had said. Women, men, children... a large spike in arrests for petty crimes such as loitering, stealing food, breaking curfew and trespass. The trespass infringement was often of the sort where a homeless person had sought shelter in a public area after closing. Unlawful prostitution was recorded mostly for the women, but in such a consistent way as to imply that it was a standard procedure rather than the genuine reason for arrest. Those few who were swept up in the same batch but released, all seemed to have the resources to pay a large fine in lieu of jail time.

The people her father had been driving to insanity and death _had_ been legal prisoners. Just, not so deserving as she'd liked to think.

She'd had to admit to herself that she'd believed what she wanted to believe.

Just as she'd believed that she knew best, would serve _Haven_ best, far better than any exiled King, child Prince or fellow noble.

Like Father, like Daughter. She'd admired her father, growing up, even if she didn't always agree with his choices towards the end. Once, she would have been proud to be compared to him.

Now, the thought made her nauseous.

She was trying her best and failing. Just like her father before her. He'd lost a sector - _she_ was close to losing the city.

Maybe her House had been cursed by the Precursors the moment her father had raised his sword against the man he'd sworn to follow. Many of the old stories claimed that the line of Mar was special, favoured by their creators above all others. Faced with the repercussions of her family's treachery, it wasn't hard to think that maybe those who moved against them were punished by the divine.

She grit her teeth against the thought, willing her mind away from it. It was too close to defeatism for her tastes. She'd never really believed the Precursors existed - or that they cared about the people of Haven if they did. Why else would the war have been going on for so long, otherwise? It was just human nature to look for intangible saviors - or blame figures.

She rolled to her feet, closing her eyes against the surge of pain in her head and tried to _think_.

Jak had his area secured, she had hers. The satellites still out there couldn't move around enough to break things more than they already had, so they didn't _have_ to be dealt with right away. The War Factory? That did. Except Torn had _already _sent two units up with a decryption key and not one of them had been heard from since.

They had to assume they were all dead.

Which lead her to the one option she'd been trying _really hard_ not to consider.

'Throw Jak at it'.

"Damn it." She massaged her temples with the tips of her fingers. It wasn't _her_ fault that the guy she was having a quiet sort of turf war with was also empowered by dark eco and could tear through a small army single-handed. It wasn't her fault that he was the best choice for the job at hand! If it hadn't been for his shut-down last time she'd asked for help, she'd have ordered him up there _first_ and the men she'd sent instead wouldn't have died.

That wasn't exactly fair, but it wasn't untrue either.

"Ma'am."

She turned. A blue-armoured soldier braced himself and saluted.

"Ma'am, there's a civilian insisting he speak with you. He's, uh..."

Ashelin's lips quirked at the man's hesitation.

"He's got a morph gun and looks about twenty seconds away from indiscriminately using it?" She filled in, unwillingly amused at how instantly she'd known it was him, just from tone of her own soldier. An odd blend of awe and terror. The soldier nodded quickly.

"Take him to the secondary control room, I'll meet him there."

The soldier saluted and left at a jog. Ashelin drew in a long breath and sighed out as much stress as she could.

Game time.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Daxter dropped to all fours and stretched like a cat. His back arched and his tail rippled as he shook off the effects of spending several hours crawling through vents, pipes and other spaces that humans couldn't get into without first removing walls. He'd also been dragging cans of rapid-set filler, forcing his body to twist unnaturally and putting the most strain on his weaker arms instead of his powerful legs.

In short, he was one dusty orange ball of aches and pains, one who could expect to be called out again any time someone found a space small enough to need his attention.

A warm hand dropped unexpectedly onto his head, startling him a second before familiar fingers scritched around the crown.

Dax melted.

"Awww yeahhh... baybe..." He slurred, lying limp on the ground as another hand snuck under his belly and gently scooped him up. "Youse knows whats I likes..."

Tess smiled, eyes crinkling as the exhausted ottsel flopped trustingly into her arms, eyes closed in bliss as she rubbed delicately around and over his ears, stroked along the ridges of his eyebrows and then down his tiny nose and over his cheeks before rounding under again to rub at the base of his skull.

He was out like a light in seconds.

She shifted him again so that he was lying on his stomach now, allowing her to idly stroke the length of his back as she carried him towards the workshop. Very few people even noticed that the animal she was stroking like a pet was the same mouthy dynamo who had been running himself ragged keeping things together in Jak's absence.

She preferred it that way. Their relationship was complicated enough without total strangers sticking their noses in and making judgments.

At first, she'd just thought Dax was adorable. He was mind-blowingly cute, hysterically funny and outrageously flattering. Best of all... well, he was an animal. He was 'safe'. The two of them could flirt as much as they liked, nothing was going to come of it. It couldn't. So, she could be freer with him. More honest. She could be herself with absolutely no internal censor making sure she wasn't running off a potential boyfriend by being too... well, too 'Tess'.

But Daxter had just matched her, attitude for attitude, honesty for honesty. He was Jak's closest friend first, but... well, they'd both enjoyed playing at being in a relationship. He made her feel beautiful when she was covered in two days' worth of muck and sweat and starting to smell. She helped him freak out Jak with their increasingly over-the-top productions of love.

But somewhere in the last year... between signing onto the Naughty Ottsel and working together and having real conversations about direction and costs and economics... well, he was still cute and funny and flattering... but he was also smart. Canny. Quicksilver streetwise coupled with loyalty like she'd never seen before and the strength to make the best of life in a form he hadn't been born to.

Without ever meaning to... she'd kinda fallen in love with him.

Which was just damned typical, really. The Precursors must think her life was a daytime soap.

One semi-bright point was that she was almost completely sure that Daxter loved her back. He never seemed to speak to other girls the way he did her, show and substance all in one. But, they hadn't exactly spoken about it... what could they say? How could they have a relationship like this? Tess had joked once about a picket fence and an ottsel run on the side of the house, but the joke was becoming increasingly unfunny.

She _liked_ Dax. A lot. She wanted to be part of his life for the rest of hers. The last year had been amazing, with Jak leaving the two of them together more often than not - something she'd felt both guilty and grateful for.

She wanted more of that. She wanted forever, but... could that ever really happen? Was she just fooling herself? Too used to Dax being 'safe'? Would she still want it if he wasn't?

Did they have to be physical, to be together? Was love alone enough? Or did that just make them close friends?

Could a girl friend ever mean more to Dax than Jak did? She didn't think so.

Sighing, she ducked into the alley next to her workshop and slipped through a small side door. Her secret project, only just completed before everything went to hell, sat hidden beneath a mangy sheet.

"I hope you'll like it, Daxy." She whispered, rubbing his fur backwards then smoothing it back down. It was certainly the closest _she_ could come to admitting out loud the three big words that loomed over their relationship.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Jak brought his 'borrowed' patrol bike down just outside of the Naughty Ottsel. Out of habit, he set it to rest just above the waterline and connected it to the nearby pipes with small but strong magnetic lines - out of sight of most pedestrians and more difficult to see by air patrols. One strong leap was all that was needed to get himself ashore and he strode into a bar with a very different atmosphere to the one he'd left, days ago.

The boxing ring/playpen of before was gone, replaced by a circular device which was presumably a computer of some sort. The mass of people were gone too - it was no longer raining, after all - but one or two men and women of varying duties were taking a moment to have a drink and a meal in the booths.

Keira was nowhere to be seen. Behind the bar, a vaguely familiar young girl - one of Bolt's friends, maybe? - was clacking bottles around whilst another, identical girl lethargically collected used dishes from an empty table. Neither of them looked up. The doors behind the bar that led into the kitchen swung open and Bolt emerged. The twelve year old looked up, lit up and darted back into the kitchen with what could only be described as a squeal.

The twins looked up at the noise, then over at Jak.

They froze.

"Hey." Jak greeted warily, focusing just a little more intently on the people around him as he moved forward - just in case.

"H-hi!" The girl behind the bar stuttered. Her twin swiftly joined her, dumping an armload of dishes into the sink before awkwardly crossing her arms behind her back.

"We're supposed to be here!" She blurted, her sister nodding fervently.

"We're watching the place for Miss Keira!" The other chimed in.

"She's sleeping upstairs." They chorused.

Jak nodded absently.

"That's good of you." He said quietly, genuinely. "Thanks."

The girls looked away shyly just as the kitchen doors _slammed_ open, revealing Bolt clutching the arm of a slightly older boy - who was presumably also his friend.

The new boy held the same look of awed hero-worship that Bolt had upon first meeting him.

Damn.

"M-Mr Jak!" The new boy stuttered, pale as milk despite his wide grin. "H-Hi! I-I mean, it's, uh, It's nice to meet you. Sir! Sir, I mean, um." The kid held out a hand to shake then snapped it back down again. "Sorry, sorry. Um." He started into an awkward little bow and got a vicious elbow to the ribs from Bolt as Jak's widening eyes shot over to him.

"_Idiot_." Bolt hissed, too lowly for a normal person to catch, blushing furiously under Jak's rapidly suspicious glare.

It looked like 'don't tell anyone' had been interpreted as 'don't tell anyone other than your friends, of course'.

Jak closed his eyes on a sigh. At least no-one _else_ would be likely to believe the brat.

"Are you kids helping out too?"

"We're not k-OW!"

Bolt removed his elbow from his friend's kidney and nodded.

"Yessir, Mr Jak. Pike'n me have been making sandwiches for people." He looked briefly disheartened. "Miss Keira said I wasn't allowed to make anything hot. She _ordered_ me, as her apprentice."

"She was savin_'_ her business from you." The other boy scoffed, lightly shoving his younger friend's shoulder. "You can't cook, you idiot."

Bolt shoved his friend back, harder, even as he grinned. Jak glanced away, envious. Not so much of their friendship - he had Dax, after all - but of the innocence of their youth. Something he and Dax had both left behind on Sandover's beach. Underneath the envy, struggling up through it like a stubborn weed... was contentment. It felt good, to see the two kids be unselfconsciously happy. Like a little piece of Sandover fresh air in the midst of Haven.

"I'll let her know you two can be relied upon to follow orders." He returned his attention to them, Bolt now kicking and twisting, trying to escape a headlock from his taller friend. Both paused in the struggle, straightening a little with pride. "Thanks, kids."

He turned on his heel and entered the stairwell, Bolt's friend - Pike's? - petulant "We're _not_ kids!" ignored behind him. The murmur of noise from downstairs - two young female voices arguing with Bolt and Pike - fell away as he reached the very top level of the building. The tiny room there had no windows and only enough space for a bed and a desk, with drawers built in under the bed being the only storage area. Keira had strung up a half-dozen green and yellow eco burners, using them both for light and to allow the scattering of tiny potted plants - at the foot of her bed, on her desk, hanging below a couple of burners - to grow and thrive. The unexpected greenery and fresh air made the claustrophobic space instantly more tolerable - and instantly recognisable as the home of someone close to the Green Sage, what with the way the plants were doing their best the scale the walls.

Keira herself was absolutely, deeply, asleep.

Jak stared, mesmerised, at the unintentional display of flesh before him. Then, blushing a little and trying to think cooling thoughts, he looked away.

...then he looked back.

_No!_ He scolded himself, looking away again and stepping silently forward to gently tug the blanket back over Keira's exposed lower body. She was wearing underclothes, thank the Precursors, and had most of the blanket bunched up over her breasts so all he _really_ saw was miles of smooth slender legs but he knew - he just _knew_ - that Keira would try her level best to knock his block off if she ever knew he'd seen even _that_ much.

Clearing his throat and moving on to thinking of Samos' revolting toenails, he reached down again and shook her shoulder firmly, ducking the arm that flailed back with bruising force. Keira herself didn't wake, but she did shuffle onto her back and snuffle loudly a couple of times, signs that she was close to waking. He flung arm lay limply off the bed, knuckles brushing the floor. It looked uncomfortable so he stepped back to lean against her desk, arms crossed, and waited for her to wake.

Her face twisted, tongue running over her teeth before she yawned widely. Her eyes slit open and she glared at him, sleep-bleary.

"Morning." Jak grinned a little. He'd always been the hated morning person of their little trio. Keira and Dax had tied for the most sleep-loving, although with Jak to hang out with, Dax was usually dragged out of bed before Keira ever was.

Long story short, she was somewhat used to waking up to two grinning boys. She was also used to throwing a wrench at them for whatever mischief they'd done beforehand, which was why her hand instinctively groped for one that wasn't there.

"Go jump in the ocean." Keira growled, gritty and grumpy. "'M asleep."

"Sorry." Jak's grin widened. "Just looking for Samos. You seen him?"

She scowled at him and turned her back, savagely pulling the blanket up around her shoulders until only the very tips of her ears poked out.

"He's in Haven Forest. South." Her muffled voice wasn't as angry as she was pretending to be.

He was pretty sure.

"Meditating. Go away."

"Thanks, Keira." Jak chuckled, stepping forward and swiftly ruffling her hair into a mess before ducking back out the doorway before she could struggle free of her cocoon and smack him. Her swearing followed him through the door and, reflexively, he laughed back. Before he could get down more than a few steps, however, the door was wrenched open behind him.

Surprised, he turned just in time to see a collapsed jetboard flung at his head. He caught it as Keira slammed the door shut behind her again, obviously intending to go straight back to sleep.

He smiled down at the board, fingers running over the obvious improvements his grease-monkey friend had made for him for no other reason than the fact that she cared about him.

"Thanks, Keira." He said again softly, slipping it into its harness on his back and resuming his trek downstairs.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Tess grinned at him as he wound a sleeping ottsel 'round his neck rather than wake him.

"Your eardrums aren't going to thank you when he wakes up." She predicted in a whisper, stroking Dax's back with calloused fingertips.

"They're used to it." Jak murmured with a slight smirk. "It's when he goes quiet that I start to worry."

Tess giggled a little, stepping away and resting a fist on her hip as she smiled at him. "Something else I can do for you?" She asked, still quiet but cheerful despite the bags under her eyes. "'Cause normally you'd be out the door already."

Jak winced acknowledgment of his lacking social skills.

"Actually..."

She chuckled, hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.

"Oh Jak, you're too easy. Whatcha need?"

"I need to borrow some minions." Jak nodded over her shoulder where the current shift of volunteers were clustered around various projects. Most were turrets but some were clearly working on inventions of Tess' personal design. "For a little piping project. Can I?"

Tess pouted.  
"Not my minions..." She sighed mournfully. She wrinkled her nose at Jak's badly hidden amusement.

"Fine." She agreed. "Piping, huh? I guess better sanitation is a worthy cause to sacrifice them for."

Jak tilted his head, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

"Not quite what I was thinking, but close."

_J&D J&D J&D_

Daxter slept for longer than expected, being both exhausted _and_ used to sleeping on Jak. Also, since Jak had opted to take the hellcat over the walls to the forest rather than risk the gaggle of borrowed minions in the streets and sewers, the journey was smooth and quiet.

It wasn't until they were half way through the tangled mess of ancient piping and massive trees, the minions waiting safely in the hellcat, that the jetboard journey from pipe to pipe jolted the ottsel enough to startle him awake.

Snapping awake mid-way through a five-foot drop wasn't something anybody liked. With his set of truly impressive lungs and octave range, Daxter made sure to spread the lack of fun around. By the time Jak skidded to a stop and kicked up his jetboard his left ear was ringing painfully.

"Daxter! _Be quiet!_"

The teens looked over to the base of the tree they'd stopped by. Beneath the Tree of Life, Samos was struggling up from a meditative position.

"_What_ are you two doing here?" The old man demanded to know, arms waving in familiar bluster. "Did Keira send you? I'm not some green shoot, I can take care of myself!"

"thassabout _all_ you c'n take care of." Dax muttered into Jak's hair, inspecting his fore claws with a deliberate of disinterest in anything Samos had to say.

For one dizzying split-second moment of awareness, Jak realised that Daxter's relationship with Samos has _always_ been more antagonistic than his. Not just short tempers sparking each other but an old man who had just never had time nor patience for a loudmouth little red-haired kid. And had made his distaste abundantly, unceasingly clear.

What did that do to a kid, growing up?

And how had he _not noticed_ before now? Or, well, he'd noticed but not quite _understood_.

Samos had been sort of a grandfatherly figure to him.

Could it be that...

Was it... knowing Damas? That had shaken Samos' hold on his nostalgic affection?

Could it be shaken so easily?

...If so, what did that say about _him_?

Shrugging off the troublesome line of thought, Jak refocused on the reason they'd come - before Samos could pop himself up into his little eco bubble and take off.

"We need your help." He cut in abruptly, interrupting a fight that had Samos floating up to Daxter's height and both of them leaning in closer and closer as they traded barbs.

Samos sat back in the air and peered at him, crinkled eyes sharp.

"Green eco can be used to repair dark eco damage, right?" Jak asked simply. Dax shot him a startled look then leant companionably against his head, making like he knew all about what was going on.

Samos sighed.

"I knew this day would come." He said sadly, shaking his head - making the bird nesting on his log flutter up and chirp angrily at him before settling back down. "Jak, I'm afraid you've allowed yourself to fall too far for me to..."

The sage's voice faded out for a moment. Jak felt his palms prickle with pain as his nails sharpened and dug through his gloves. Through the haze of pulsing anger - Samos blamed him? _Blamed him for what had been done to him? _- he felt the tense line of Daxter's own anger stiff against the side of his skull and focused on it, bringing his bucking sanity back under control.

Samos had fallen silent, either aware that he'd crossed a line or just alarmed by the spike of Dark he'd no doubt sensed more acutely than anyone else could. Jak wondered what the old man saw, when he looked at him.

The happy, mute, ignorant heir he'd used to be? Or Gol, the corrupted man who the Sages had condemned to death and then pointed a pair of fifteen year olds at to keep their own hands clean?

If he hadn't needed him so badly, would Samos have ever ordered _Jak _to be put down like the rabid animal so many thought him to be?

"It would kill you, Jak." Samos entreated. "If I tried to fix you. I'm sorry, my boy. There's just... too much damage. Fixing it would _unmake_ you."

Jak swallowed. Shoved it all away, for now. Shoved it down and repressed it roughly the way he'd repressed a whole lot of other things.

"...That wasn't what I was going to ask you." He said quietly. He cleared his throat, trying to bring his tone back to normal. He could feel Daxter's right paw, clenched in his hair, trembling with fury.

Like he'd told Tess, he didn't worry until Dax went quiet.

Samos blinked and for all the world looked as if he'd just swallowed his own foot. Awkwardly, the old man sunk back down to ground level and peered up at the two patiently.

"I need you to block the eco vents here." Jak said carefully. "The vapor-form... it's the least powerful form of eco, right?"

Samos blinked and nodded slowly.

"That's right, Jak. From strongest to weakest, it's crystal, liquid, then vapor. The mines automatically convert crystal to liquid and the vents convert the liquid in the pipes to vapor." He replied automatically, voice falling into the lecturing tone of years past. "I remember trying to make you sit still long enough to show you how they worked, a good seven rings ago."

He had. He'd had schematics and thinning patience and the world had been huge and bright and full of adventure waiting to happen. Dax and he hadn't stuck around for long.

"So, against Metal-Heads... not much use?" Jak checked. Samos nodded, frowning.

"Well yes, it's only really effective against corrupted material from this planet, to begin with. And even then, there are limits. Plant life is about all the vapor can repair and even then it needs direct application..." Samos trailed off, frowning harder. "Jak... what's going on?"

Jak tried for a smile and pulled out his communicator.

"Jackson?" He knew Tess had given him this minion purely for his surname. He just _knew_ it.

"Uh, sir?" The volunteer replied nervously.

"How's it looking at your end?" Jak asked, half-turning to run an eye over the forest behind them. Either he or Samos would sense it if any Metal Heads intruded but they probably wouldn't notice any Death Bots at this range.

"Fine, sir. We've isolated the best prospective access point and we're ready to go."

"Get to it then." Jak ordered. "Send word when you're set."

Jackson agreed and signed off. Somewhere out near the shield wall, the three men - two of them actually plumbers - got to work.

Jak turned back to Samos who seemed, for the first time, completely off-balance.

"Jak, what...?"

"Samos. I'm going to need you to close these vents in a minute."

The Sage stared at him, eyes bugging.

"Wh-?! Are you-!? Don't be ridiculous! This forest is one of the few places of power I can still access!" He sputtered. "To shut down the vents... Jak, the Metal Heads would move right in! The vents are all that are protecting it!"

"The vents." Jak agreed. "_And_ the shield wall." His eyes glinted unpleasantly. "The shield wall that is protecting _this forest _from the infestation on the other side. The infestation _inside_ the city. The infestation that has hamstrung Haven's ability to support itself."

Samos stared at him. The old man wasn't stupid, he'd already worked out what Jak was hoping to achieve.

"But... the forest..." He said weakly. Jak bit back his impatience and just waited him out, knowing that Samos - the Samos he knew - would understand.

Slowly, the old sage closed his eyes.

"You're right." He muttered. "You're right. I just... if the forest gets corrupted, Jak... I'll lose most of my power. I'll be all but useless."

Finally, Daxter snapped.

"Oh, like you've been so _freakin' useful_ so far!" The ottsel snarled, standing straight and angry. "Your _daughter_ has been working herself to the bone, to help out. People have been droppin' everything to keep each other alive. My baby has had about four hours sleep in three days, _I've_ been _crawlin' around risking my life _in the Precursor-damned tightest pipes and vents in the _world_ and _Jak _has been running around playing politics with scumbags which I'm pretty sure is the worst job of all!"

He dropped to all fours, powerful hind claws digging into Jak's shoulder protector as his fore claws gripped it lightly. His fur bristled. He looked like an animal poised to attack.

"Tell me, you rotting lump of fungus." He demanded quietly. "_What have **you** been doing?_"

Samos gaped at him, shocked so beyond reason that he wasn't even angry yet.

"_I'll tell you_." Daxter continued implacably. "You've been _hiding_. You've been _scrambling_. The attacks started and whilst everyone else dropped everything to help each other? _Your _first thought was helping _yourself_. To go scrambling for power-"

"_**Power so I could help them!**_" Samos thundered back, finally overcoming his shock. "You make it sound like I was... I needed to be stronger! I _**had **_ to be, to be _useful_ for anything! I'm a _Sage_, people expect _more_ from me! I was the leader of the Underground! I have responsibilities!"

Jak felt Daxter draw breath to yell right back and gently pressed his palm to his best friend's chest, a silent request to speak.

"So do I." He replied simply. "Not because I can channel a form of eco - or _two_ - that no one else can. Not because I was _born_ to it." Distantly, he noted Samos' almost invisible reaction. The old man still didn't know that _Jak_ knew the truth of his origins.

"But because I earned it." He pressed. "Because, just like everyone else, I waded in to help however I could. Because, maybe without thinking things through like I should have, I _shouldered_ those responsibilities. People are organised, sheltered, provided for and protected." He tilted his head, just slightly. "What exactly do you think there _is_ left to do?"

There was no anger in Samos' bearing, now. He just scrutinised Jak, looking at him like he'd never seen him before.

There was a long pause. Even Dax seemed to have wound down, though Jak knew he was a hair trigger away from rage if the old sage gave him cause.

Ruefully, Samos smiled.

"I think..." He said slowly. "That I can help you. With your responsibilities." He caught Jak's eye, mostly stern with a little pleading.

"There's always room for helpers, right? Even fool old sages?"

Shoulders slumping in more relief than Jak would like to admit to, he smiled.

"_Especially_ fool old sages." He joked. Samos' eyes narrowed cantankerously.

"Overgrown brats..." He muttered to himself, floating up and over to the vents, preparing them to be shut down. Daxter waited till he was out of sight before sitting grumpily on Jak's shoulder and doing his best to pat his fur down.

"You always go so easy on him." The ottsel muttered. Jak knew it was only because his friend was so tired that he voiced the thought at all. For all he tended to blurt things, Dax normally kept his hurts pretty close to the chest.

He also knew that Dax was talking not only about the times like now - when Samos said something nasty or wrong and Jak didn't have it out with him - but also all the times in the past when the old man's cranky attitude had pushed past the polite behaviour line and Jak hasn't said a word.

_"What took you so long? I added six rings to my trunk, _

_waiting for you two to get me outta here!"_

The Samos he'd rescued had known exactly what was going to happen - to both Jak and himself. Had he really not realised how long Jak had been in custody himself, in no position to rescue anyone? Had known but ignored it or known but tried to soothe him with the very familiarity of his crotchety complaining?

It was enough to make his head hurt, thinking about it. He probably wouldn't ever _know_, either.

He didn't _want_ to lose the grumpy old grandfather figure he'd known for so much of his life, though. He could forgive almost any amount of hurt to himself, to that end.

Hurt to Daxter, though...

No more. That was one line that Jak would _never_ allow the old man to cross again.

"You're right." He replied quietly, startling his friend. "I'm sorry."

He sensed Daxter eyeballing him a little before the ottsel sighed and leaned on his head in forgiveness.

"So what's the deal with the eco?" Dax asked after a short pause.

Jak's lips curled up, just a little.

"Tess' minions are currently re-routing the piping into the shield wall." He explained. "There are hidden access panels - I got a key from Ashelin before I hit the Port - designed specifically to accept emergency input in case of supply lines elsewhere drying up. The computer system built into the wall will automatically accept or reject the input based on the type of eco, so even if someone or something had Ashelin's codes, if they tried flooding it with dark eco it wouldn't work. The computer would reject it and lock out the entire access sector, as well as sending troops automatically."

"Huh." Dax nodded slowly, then hummed and shifted his weight. "Yeah, I don't get it. Why're we doin' this?"

Jak stretched and grabbed his jetboard, throwing it down and stepping on to glide easily after Samos.

"Because the eco in the pipes is both liquid and pressurised." He explained. "Once it's fed into the shield wall - the water pipeline, you know the one? Once it's fed into that, we'll do a fly-by and blow the pipes."

"...The eco will flood the Agri-sector." Dax realised. "Which is sealed off, so..."  
"So the liquid eco won't hurt anything or anyone except the Metal Heads." Jak finished in satisfaction. "With any luck, we'll be able to patch it, clean it and get the farmers back in soon enough that we won't have to sell our souls to Kras city for more food stocks."

Dax did a little drumroll-of-victory against his skull.

"That's ma man, Jak!" He yowled triumphantly. "You da man!"

Jak chuckled and shook his head, coming into view of the vents just as his comm crackled with confirmation that the pipes were tapped and ready.

"The first step to taking back the city - for good - starts right now." Jak said, stepping off his board to stand near Samos. The old sage nodded and, resolutely, thrust glowing green hands out into the air above the central vent.

With a groan of pressure and a dimming of ambient energy, the vents closed.

Within the Agri-sector, the water pipes slowly began to glow.

_**J&D J&D J&D**_

All together now! (sing-song chorus of sound) "_Stuff that was supposed to be in this chapter was pushed back to later chapters."_

Yawn, we're all bored of that!

Yay for early posting! I got in the grooove and managed to knock out the second half of the chapter over the last nine hours. WOW I'm a slow writer.

If anyone is interested in dull, butchered excerpts or stuff that never quite made it into the actual story, I'll be posting the contents of my scrapbook on my blog every now and then. Link in my bio.

Special thanks to digisammiegirl & Yami Dragoness for their thrillingly chunky reviews. :D Also much love to those who PM'ed me although I'm not sure if it's breaking privacy courtesy to mention them by name...?


	14. Chapter 14

_To help motivate myself to write, I pitted myself in (secret) competition with another author, hoping to beat them in updating. I WON!_

In reality, though, every single one of you who reviewed were the real reason stuff got done. You guys inspire me!

_J&D J&D J&D_

Aconite kept the hellcat steady as her prince sighted along the scope of his long-range blaster morph. She wished they had more vehicles to provide proper air support, especially as they were currently cruising over the divide between the Bazaar and the Agri-Sector. To their left was a festering sore of dark eco and Metal Heads, to their right an empty husk of what was once the heart of the city. Attacks could come from both sides and she was singularly responsible for ensuring the safety of her leader and prince, Jak.

She'd been in _firefights_ and felt less stress than she was now. Jak himself was completely focused on watching someone _else's_ back - one of the underground criminals that used to belong to Krew but who had jumped to follow Jak just as quickly as she did. On nothing more than Jak's request, he'd agreed to go into their enemy's stronghold and strategically plant charges along the pipeline.

On _his_ request, however, Jak had agreed to provide cover. The chain-smoking demolition expert would trust no other, especially not any of the guard, to make sure he came out alive.

Perhaps it was Jak's very willingness to put his own life on the line that had men such as - Jinx? - willing to do the same. A leader who rolled up his sleeves and got stuck in was easy to respect.

So Jinx had taken a Guard bike which had mysteriously turned up, draped it with home-made explosives and set off as dawn cast deep shadows inside the city. A large squad of men and women - mostly volunteers with a guard in charge of smaller groups - had quietly moved out to line the rooftops outside the infected zone. Once the pipes blew, if the prince's plan worked, Metal Heads would be scrambling to escape. The ground-based ones had almost no chance of escaping but the flying types would need to be picked off to ensure they didn't try to re-nest somewhere else.

This was it. This was their chance to take back what they'd lost. Unlike the Coastal Sector, the Agri-Sector would be theirs again.

She breathed out, carefully boxing up her excitement and putting it aside. There'd be time for that later.

Jak's rifle fired, once, twice, three times. She glanced over and saw three flying Metal Heads - really the only risk to Jinx, at the height he was keeping to - fall dead before they could reach the criminal. Jinx himself hadn't even bothered to look over, trusting his back to Prince Jak like only one who _already had_ could.

Which meant the prince had worked with him before. Worked with the criminal underground, which meant he'd worked for Krew.

She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Krew had been pure evil, exactly the kind of scum that she'd signed up to wipe off the map - to make Haven a better place by removing - only to discover that 'politics' prevented it. It took years before she realised that 'politics' was code for Baron Praxis having his own ties to the gang lord - a mutually beneficial arrangement so that both could prosper and achieve their goals.

She'd thrown up for hours, the night she'd discovered that. She'd felt so _dirty_, wearing the colours of Praxis as her dreams of bettering the city became a nightmare of perpetuating its misery.

If she hadn't had Knat, dreamy and shining and dependant on her paycheck… Well.

A flicker at the corner of her eye had her deftly redirect the hellcat's upper gun turret, finger on the trigger to fire. She tracked the movement - a scout bot - and shot it down. The last thing they needed were bots flooding the Bazaar.

"Orange Lightning to Fly Boys, come in Fly Boys!"

She thought maybe she heard a faint huff of humour from her prince as she jabbed the switch for a two-way open mike. The comm system on the old bird was ancient - it was cheaper to just maintain them instead of upgrade.

"Flyboys reading you." She answered mildly. She hadn't been sure what to think of the prince's strange little talking animal. Blabbermouth, loudmouth, braggart, infuriating? Yes. But, she'd discovered, he was _also_ unexpectedly canny, perceptive and good at keeping track of several things at once.

Whether that made _up_ for the blabbermouth braggart thing she wasn't quite sure…

"Awriight, everyone else is in place and ready to go. What's the sitch, Jak?"

Jak fired again, rapid and faultless.

"Almost done. Looks like he's gonna hit up one or two more sections."

"Geesh. Overkill much?"

"_He's_ the demo expert, Dax. Not us."

"Only 'cause you won't buy me explosives. Not even for my birthday. I bet _Tess'd_ buy me explosives."

"Dax, if you asked Tess for explosives? She'd go 'oh, sure honey' and pull a spare block out of her back pocket."

"_**Damn**_ that's a sexy image. Mmmm. _Hey_! Stop thinking sexy things about my girl, Jak!"

Aconite rolled her eyes and cast another look about. Logically, she knew that Mr Daxter was back at the HipH- Head Quarters, using their shiny new tactical system to keep track of all their groups and didn't even _need_ to speak to send messages to some of them but hey - she was army. A logistic officer of _hers_ who chattered like _that_ during an op would be busted down to janitor in one second flat. People's lives _depended_ on them and-

Breathing out, she consciously relaxed her grip on the steering column.

_And_, Mr Daxter was a civilian volunteer because they _had _no logistic officers. A flash of movement caught her eye but was luckily just a volunteer scaling one of the trees overhanging the Agri-Sector.

Damn. This was why she was getting wrinkles.

"We've had some trouble with the little bug-things, Jak." Daxter's voice dropped, abruptly serious. "One fatality so far, two critical wounds. There was a nest or something in the rubble up north. I've told the nearest group to stay sharp, but… Jak, anyone we send to cover that area…"

"Yeah." Jak answered shortly. "Tell Jinx, once he's done, to evac over the shield wall instead of back the way he came. I'll cover the northern rubble."

"Sir!" Aconite snapped reflexively. Leaders who got stuck in were one thing, _Princes dropping into a kill zone_ was another.

"Stow it, Aconite." Jak cut her off. "It's not up for discussion. You can play aerial support and pick me up after - but I'm touching down alone."

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her furious words inside. _She_ was the guard, Precursors-dammit. It was _her_ job to protect _him. _To put her life on the line so that he - or any other citizen - didn't have to.

Apparently psychic, Mr Daxter's next words were directed at her.

"Don't fight him, Aci-baby. Jak can be a real stubborn ass."

"That's _Captain_ Aci-baby to you, Mr Daxter." She shot back, startling a genuine - it short - laugh from them both. "…And I'll take your advice on board. I find, however, that I'm not comfortable sending one man alone - no matter who he is - into an area which has already decimated a trio."

"Well," Mr Daxter replied, tone warm with humour. "I think you'll feel much more okay with it in about.. Hmmm… six minutes?"

_J&D J&D J&D_

Six minutes later, Jinx flew up and over the shield wall before remotely triggering the bombs.

Every single one of them blew perfectly, not only blowing the pipes but forcing the resulting spray far and wide.

The Metal Heads _screamed_. The air turned black with fliers trying to escape, fliers who were mowed down by the waiting volunteers. Someone had snuck out some eco grenades, taking huge chunks of them out at a time. Someone else had scrounged up a peacemaker of all things and was taking advantage of the densely-packed animals to spread the charge.

Prince Jak?

Prince Jak first flashed pure white - attaining his ethereal Light Eco form and destroying the delicate, tiny burrowing bugs inside of the rubble - then flashed purple-black as he devolved into Dark Jak - the unstoppable killing machine rumoured to have been created by Baron Praxis himself.

Aconite had seen him in action before, but she'd been distracted with her own battles, with keeping eyes on her troops.

Now? Now she had a birds-eye view of exactly how indiscriminately destructive her prince could choose to be.

Into the terrified, oncoming horde of Metal Heads he flung two orbs of purple-white power which spun around itself as it went, enlarging and shooting off bolts of lightning before finally exploding, eradicating anything in the blast radius. His opening move vapourised anything it touched in a massive wedge before him.

A blast of energy - not so much a dome as a shockwave - destroyed anything that had gotten too close whilst he'd charged the first attack and after _that _- drawing in Dark Eco like he was somehow magnetic to it - he simply charged up _another_ devastating twin-orb attack.

Last time she'd seen him fight, he'd mostly focused on speed and strength because her people had been in the way, preventing him from letting loose.

She understood now, why he hadn't wanted her on the ground beside him. She'd have been nothing but an obstruction.

Tearing her eyes away, she quickly gave a visual scan of the stadium district behind the rubble blocking it off. No bots at all yet. It was strange. Setting the hellcat to continue scanning and alert the second anything came within range, she turned her attention back to the battle.

Or rather, the slaughter. Her hellcat had automatically been firing at any Dark Eco signal above a certain height but hadn't had much to shoot _at, _what withthe volunteers being so thorough.

The ground-based Metal Heads were also already almost gone. Jak had only needed to keep them from trying to climb each other's corpses up and over the pile of rubble long enough for the flood of eco-infused water to swallow them.

She frowned as she noticed that Dark Jak was backing away from the rapidly rising waters as well. The trench dug through the centre had slowed the flow at first but now that it was full…

Suddenly, despite the fact that the water hadn't even touched him yet, he shuddered out of his Dark form and collapsed to his hands and knees. Even from here, she could see the tremors shaking him. What…?!

Taking manual control of the hellcat, she swung down to ground level and shouted for him. He didn't react, breathing hard as the ground around him bubbled and hissed at the onrush of eco-water.

Even _she_ could feel it coming, like scrubbing brush made of steel against her mind and body. Too strong even for her, what must it be like for him?

"_**Sir!**_ She roared. "_**Get in the hellcat! Now!**_"

Finally, he seemed to realise someone was talking to him. He staggered to his feet, shaky and groggy, stumbling as he made his way over. Biting her lip so hard it bled, she drifted the hellcat sideways towards him, unable to be faster without risking knocking him down.

"_Get. In!_" She shouted again, as he finally leaned one hand against the overhead beam and hesitated.

"Dax…?" He breathed, looking up and around as if trying to find him. Desperately, she punched the comm line open. The water was rushing towards them, less force and mass but just as unstoppable.

"Daxter!" She barked. "Tell him to get in the damned hellcat! _Now_!"

Daxter, Precursors bless him, didn't hesitate.

"Jak! Get in!" The ottsel shouted over the comm. The prince's eyes sharpened a little, focusing on the source of sound like a laser. He half-knelt, half-fell into the seat. She snapped a hand over to him, fisted his gun holster and slammed the hellcat up to full power. It responded, surging up fast enough to be hit with only the lightest spray of treated water.

Jak still hissed like it burnt, though he shook himself after and seemed a little better off despite the pain. He touched his hand to hers even as he seated himself more securely, nodding his thanks as she met his eyes.

She glared, but removed her hand.

Precursors _damn_ those princes who rolled up their sleeves and got stuck in.

_J&D J&D J&D_

People cheered as they flew back into the Port.

They were the last back since both of them had wanted to act as an eye - and a gun - in the sky for the retreating volunteers. It seemed that those same volunteers had already spread word of their apparent success and people were celebrating.

The practical, pessimistic part of him, the part that was already thinking _War Factory _and _Satellites _stared down at them, confused as to how they could be so happy. Their city was still splayed open to three different invaders, even if the nest of _one_ had been eradicated. The artifacts Daxter had used to make initial, urgent purchases were gone and so too was their traction with Kras City's support. They were still at constant risk from the tiny, burrowing creatures carried in by the dark satellites and even if they weren't…

Those satellites had come from something else. Something that scared the unflappable Seem into working with a man as vile as Veger.

And they were barely surviving the advance wave of this brand new enemy.

Still, as his enhanced eyesight traced over people hugging, dancing, waving their hands in greeting and thanks, excitement and joy in their eyes…

It felt good. To know that _they_ felt good. Even if it was only a brief respite.

"Oh for- _what _has that brat done now?" Aconite muttered to herself, glaring down at something. Jak craned out of the hellcat, trying to see what she was looking at. He couldn't see anything out of the ordinary except maybe that things looked a little brighter than usual.

And a little more… _orange_ than usual.

…wait.

Guard armour, once red, then blue, was now shining a brilliant metallic orange. The orange of a precursor artifact. The orange of Daxter's fur.

Not all of them and not neatly by any stretch of the imagination. It looked like, upon returning to the Port, someone had taken a wide paintbrush to whoever stood still long enough. Some of the guard were laughing and cleaning the visors of their new orange helmets. Others were scowling and looking around for the perpetrator of a single orange streak down their back or across their shoulders.

Jak opened his mouth to ask how Aconite knew whoever had done or organised the random graffiti when his eye caught on _more_ orange. Not paint, but cloth. Strips of it tied around people's arms, most often. Some women had orange-patterned cloth tying back their hair in ribbons or via a bandanna. One man had dug up some awful shirt that was a hell of a lot more eye-watering than any orange Jak had ever seen before.

All were wearing it proudly, beyond the scope of mischief.

He turned, confused, to Aconite. At first she didn't notice, too busy glaring into the crowd and muttering threats under her breath, but eventually she flicked an automatic glance over to him and paused.

She hesitated for a long moment, longer than Jak thought warranted, before speaking.

"House colours." She said shortly, like that explained everything.

Jak lifted both eyebrows to indicate that it very much didn't. Aconite grimaced.

"They don't know - or think you have - house colours." She elaborated. "They almost certainly don't know you belong to the House of Mar. But, they want to show allegiance." Her face drew taught for a moment, troubled and angry and afraid all at once.

"It's essentially treason, under Baron Praxis' laws." She continued, much more quietly. "They haven't technically been repealed. In the old days, it was permitted for the people to wear the colours of the House they either supported or whose section they lived in. That all changed with the coup d'état. The Baron forbade any House colours save his own, and only for those in his employ or exerting his will - like couriers or the Guard."

Jak blinked and looked out over the crowded Port. Over the floating civilian camp. Now that he was looking for it, he was picking out more and more. Four small children with paintbrushes and intent expressions were carefully painting metallic orange over the blue patrol bike that had carried Jinx through the Agri-Sector. Jinx himself was leaning against a near-by wall, arms crossed and brow furrowed in bemusement as he watched over them. And he _was_ watching over them, Jak could see the chain smoker's pistol gripped in one hand whilst blue-grey eyes constantly flicked about looking for threats.

Jak sat back with a small smile. He was going to enjoy bringing _that_ up later.

"The worst part is that some of my men are going along with it." Aconite continued and Jak refocused on her. "Civilians randomly choosing to wear one colour over another? No big deal, the Guard can't be expected to police random fashion trends. But when _they_ start changing their colours…" The captain paused, but Jak didn't need her to spell it out.

Split loyalties in a people's _armed forces_ tended to make those people nervous. And with good cause.

"It won't turn into anything." He half-asserted, half promised. "I've got no interest in starting a civil war and Daxter might talk a big game, but starting a war would cut into his private time with Tess, so he wouldn't either."

Aconite barked a short, humourless laugh.

"With utmost respect, sir, your approval or involvement _isn't_ necessary. If the Baron hadn't had the KG bots to back him up, The Underground would have become a revolution. All people need is an icon, something or someone to rally behind, and a common enemy. They've had the latter for a long time and now they finally have the former."

"What are you saying?" Jak asked, as Aconite drifted the hellcat into a higher circle to check the rooftop guards. Teams of volunteers - Tess' by the look of their grease-smeared clothes and hands - were busily installing something that looked like a monorail track. "You think they'd, what, spontaneously decide a change in regime is more important than surviving the current crisis?"

"Maybe." Aconite returned unflinchingly. "People are smart, mobs are stupid. Every guard knows that. But, more worrying is the reaction of other Houses. A lot of them already perceive you as a threat to them, sir. If news gets out that people are rallying behind you, taking on your colours… sir, a price on your head will be the least of it. It's not outside the realm of possibility that they'll order a preemptive offensive."

"Ashelin wouldn't, no matter what they said." Jak replied confidently. "She wouldn't order her soldiers to move against the citizens, not like her father did."

"Perhaps." Aconite allowed. "I'm sure you know the Governor better than me. But, off the record sir? Her control over the Guard is already shaky. The threat of open rebellion might be just the opportunity some Houses need to legally raise their own troops and turn a small movement into a bloodbath."

Jak sat back, eyes on the sky which was marginally clearer than usual, since the Industrial sector had been all but shut down. It really was just one thing after another.

"What can I do?" He asked quietly, not really directed at anyone. "If they don't need my approval to start trouble than I doubt my _dis_approval would hold them back."

Aconite drew breath. Paused for long enough that Jak glanced over. The woman had an interesting expression twisting her face, conflicted in her response.

"_You_, sir?" She finally replied carefully. "Probably not. They might just think you were being self-effacing, or that you were under direct threat from the Governor." Dark brown eyes flickered his way.

"The heir to the House of Mar, though…" She began carefully. "The lost Prince of Haven. _He'd_ be someone they'd listen to."

Jak scowled as the hellcat swung about and came to land behind Daxter's giant animated replica. There was a tiny door hidden at the base, which Daxter was lounging against as he waited for them.

"That's just not realistic." He argued. "The heir that they know exists is now 500 years _in the past _and no sane person will listen to the explanation of 'Oh, but he grew up and came forward again and now he's this guy here, we swear'."

Aconite sent him something that was almost a glare as the vehicle jolted to a halt and the engine powered down. Daxter scampered over, ears up, aware that something was going on.

"They don't _have_ to know the details." She bit out. "But if you _are_ of the House of Mar, there's half a dozen ways it can be proved and people can make whatever assumptions they like."

She swung herself out of her seat, picked her gun up from its storage slot and slung it over her back. She hesitated, stepping back as Dax took her place and fluently keyed the hellcat to start up again, bringing it to hover a foot about the rooftop.

"Just…." She sighed. "Just, please, think about it sir. Even if you don't _want_ to be known as Jak of the House of Mar, there's no guarantee the Governor won't _make_ it known, if that's her only option to prevent a civil war."

Daxter startled, glancing from her to Jak and back again.

"…In a way, we're lucky." Aconite offered. "If you really _were_ a commoner, then there'd be no legal flexibility. The Governor would _have_ to come down hard on any perceived rebellion or risk another House doing it for her. But, you're _not_. And. Technically, the current government _is_ illegal."

Her mouth shut with a sharp click, like she'd said too much. A salute later and she was jogging over the rooftop to a cluster of guards who'd been left in charge of the Port defence whilst she'd been gone. Jak stared after her.

"…Was it just me" Daxter asked would-be casually "Or did a member of Haven's military just covertly suggest that you take over the city?"

"I have no idea." Jak shook his head, taking over flight duties since Daxter's feet couldn't reach the pedals, Dax jumping up onto the overhead beam instead. He pulled the hellcat up and aimed at the central tower in the middle of the water. That was where the civilian HQ had been set up, more for ease of being found than any need for a central workspace. He wanted to have a quick word with Bo and Flo before he and Dax took off for the War Factory. Half-way there, a thought occurred to him.

"Maybe it's not so much 'wanting me to rule' as 'wanting an indisputable leader'. After the Baron took over the city, he had to fight to keep it. When Ashelin took over… I thought everything was fine, but now we're finding out that she has a hell of a lot less power than we thought. Aconite seemed really worried about the other Houses more than anything else - about them looking for an excuse to take power themselves." He frowned as another idea came to him.

"I guess this Agri-Sector infestation has done more damage to Ashelin's control than we realised, too. Maybe one of the reasons she took the reigns so easily was because she could claim credit for you and me killing Kor - for ending the Metal Head assault. But then, a year later, they're not only back but they've invaded the city."

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you take credit for stuff you didn't do." Dax pointed out unforgivingly. "Serves her right."

"Maybe." Jak replied. "But it's affecting _us_ too. What happens if Ashelin really _does_ lose power, Dax? Who would she be replaced by?"

The image of Veger, sneering and power-hungry, flashed across his mind.

"No-one good." Daxter admitted after a moment. "So Aci-baby thinks it's worth staging a hostile takeover?"

Jak just shook his head.

"I doubt it. I got the impression the only battle she wants is a bloodless court battle - backed up by popular opinion, but not with a gun."

There was a long, contemplative silence. Then,

"…Welp, we're screwed." Daxter decided. Jak angled a glare his way.

"Quit worryin' about it Jak." Dax advised. "You'll get all wrinkly and frankly, your looks are all you have. There!"

The ottsel's slim little body dropped from the overhead beam to Jak's shoulder, one fuzzy little arm cutting into his line of vision to point out the old farmers they were looking for. Jak nodded and dropped the hellcat sharply in revenge for the comment on his looks. Daxter screeched and grabbed at his hair so he wasn't flung off.

"Ya jerk!" Dax groused once they were level, the hellcat set to hover above the water and attached to the metal walkway with magnetic ties. He unclenched his tiny little hands and leaned companionably against Jak's head, though, so the blond just grinned and jumped up onto the busy walkway. His arrival prompted a short smatter of applause and cheers, much to his surprise, mostly from people wearing orange on them.

He ducked his head and didn't respond, thankful when Daxter started hamming it up and drawing attention away from him.

It was only a few steps to get to the shaded section that housed Bo and Flo's duties. Having no other blackboards, the two had apparently decided to paint part of the wall black and just treat it like one. Multiple clipboards and boxes of loose paper were stacked neatly out of the way, evidence of their thorough documentation. At this point, however, their job was mostly done until and unless further survivors entered the Port.

Now Jak needed them for something else.

"Sir!" Bo saw him first, rising to his feet with a reflex that made Jak wonder briefly if the man had also been a Guard in his youth. Flo struggled up shortly after, given a hand by her husband. Jak hid a wince, wishing they hadn't gotten up at all - and not just because they were old.

"Bo, Flo." Jak nodded to them both, smiling a little in genuine gratitude. Their hard work was the invisible, but invaluable kind. He said as much, awkwardly thanking them for their help.

Flo blushed and Bo just beamed proudly, wrapping an arm around his wife.

"Don't mention it!" Flo insisted, still pink in the cheeks. "We were just happy to be able to help at all." Beside her, Bo nodded firmly.

Jak inclined his head in acknowledgement, hesitating a second as he tried to work out how to politely ask the silver-haired couple - who probably should be resting, right? - for more help.

Fortunately, Bo seemed either psychic or good at reading faces because he burst out laughing.

"By all means, sir!" He grinned, after he wound down. "Speak! We were just grumbling to each other about feeling useless now!"

Flo's expression lifted a little, the old lady turning hopeful eyes to the young leader of the Port. "Is that true, sir? We _would_ like to help, truly!"

"Our joints might creak," Bo added in good humour. "But our minds are sharp and our hands like to keep busy."

Jak finally grinned a little back. Okay, so you didn't have to be a Sage to be both old _and_ lively. Got it.

"I appreciate it." He replied fervently. "I've come in regards to the Agri-Sector. You've probably heard that the cleansing was a success?"

The exultant expressions - and rapid nodding - was all the answer he needed.

"Well," Jak continued. "Although normally the eco we used to clear the Metal Heads would serve as a contaminant by itself, luckily we have the Green Sage on hand to help clear it out."

This time, Flo was the one who grasped where he was going. She gasped in delight.

"Yeah." Jak nodded. "Samos will help clear the entire sector so it can be worked again."

Flo, little old lady that she was, looked briefly half her age as she bounced on the spot and hugged her husband _hard_.

"We can go back to work?" Bo asked hopefully, blinking suspiciously shiny eyes himself.

"More than that." Jak corrected. "The Metal Heads did a lot of structural damage to the ground and we had to blow the irrigation pipes to clear them. I was hoping the two of you would agree to be in charge of the entire Agri-Sector recovery effort. That would mean rounding up people with the skills to repair the pipes and either fill in or work with the massive trench the Metal Heads dug right through the entire sector."

"You'll need to do more than that!" A bossy voice cut into their conversation. Bo and Flo blinked past Jak, who didn't turn. He knew that grumpy old tone.

"This is Samos." He introduced to the couple. "Samos, this is Flo and Bo - they've agreed to take on the responsibility of getting the Agri-Sector back into production."

Samos harrumphed, but nodded at the two politely enough.

A discrete shuffle drew Jak's attention to a Guard - sans helmet, as had become the norm for any Guard in the Port - who normally shadowed Aconite. The one with the two little kids. What was his name…?

"Hey Argy." Daxter came to his rescue. Argo, right. Aconite's 2IC. He'd accompanied Samos?

Argo met his gaze and saluted, just as crisply as the first time they'd met. He wasn't, Jak noticed, bearing any orange paint on his armour.

"Sir, Captain Aconite sent me to coordinate with you regarding a security detail for any work done in the Agri-Sector." The man reported. Jak nodded. It was a good idea.

"Nonsense!" Samos blustered, waving his staff around. "They'll be quite safe with me there."

Argo looked like he wanted to argue, but glanced swiftly at Jak and subsided. Daxter took up the fight on his behalf.

"No way, spore-breath! In case you've forgotten, Jak 'n me have had to play guard for _you_ before - once you get all glowy you tune out the rest of the world, 'an you know it!"

Samos bristled in instant, automatic outrage but Dax was far from done.

"'N even if trouble only struck during those times you weren't all 'communing with nature' - the Agri-Sector is a big place and _you can't be everywhere_."

"Oh be quiet, you quadruped pain in the back! Go take a flea bath!"

"Whynt'cha _make me_, you rotting old stump!"

"Enough!" Jak barked, lifting a hand to Dax and spreading one out to Samos as if to keep them physically apart. They certainly looked like they were about to have it out, man to ottsel.

"Samos." He said firmly. "Dax is right. You're already going to be in huge demand to heal the earth - it's unreasonable and dangerous to put everyone's protection on your shoulders too."

"That is _not_ what I said." Daxter muttered into his ear. Jak ignored him.

He turned to Argo, leaving Samos still a little steamed but mostly consoled by the acknowledgement of his own importance. The guard was utterly blank-faced, no doubt in reaction to the little domestic between Dax and Samos.

"Captain, although Bo and Flo are in charge of the work detail to repair the Agri-Sector, would you be willing to take charge of the group's security? I think you'd know better than me what should be done to keep them safe."

Argo blinked, his blank expression thawing a little. He stood a little straighter and saluted again.

"Yes sir. Thank you sir."

Jak shook his head, lips twitching a little as he tilted his head at Samos who - bored with the conversation - had began to harass Flo and Bo about their plans.

"No, Captain. Thank _you_."

_J&D J&D J&D_

An hour later, thanks to Bo and Flo's impeccable record-keeping, every skilled worker and piece of equipment needed had been rounded up and gathered at the barricaded entrance to the agri sector. Samos was floating above it as Jak and Dax joined the crowd of eager volunteers. Although nobody applauded this time, he was still met with a lot of happy faces and the occasional pat to the arm, back or shoulder that Dax wasn't occupying.

He tried not to look more than mildly uncomfortable as he hurried towards the knot of people leading the group. Flo, Bo and Argo stood together, going over last-minute changes to the plan based on what Samos had been calling down to them. At his arrival, Argo briefly nodded but kept most of his attention on Bo's request for foraging groups to go into the Forest. Jak just stood back and listened. Apparently, although the Port had plenty of seeds in stock, they didn't generally keep non-crops in storage - such as grass, trees and other perennials. The infestation had been so thorough that _everything_ would need to be replaced.

"It won't take long, especially if everyone is organised." Bo argued passionately. "Mr Samos says that if we can dig up a few square meters of grass and spread it out in patches, he can encourage it to spread throughout the entire sector. We can make artificial shade for those crops which need it, certainly, but grass is much more important than you realise. It's the only zero-maintenance feed we _have_ for Yakkows, and I'm _sure_ Mr Jak will let us order some replacement animals soon. Without grass, the only way we'd be able to feed them would be to sacrifice some of the crops that feed _us_."

"Fine, grass is important." Argo conceded. "But lichen? Mushrooms? Are those really a priority?"

"_Yes_." Bo replied adamantly. "Most of the crops on hand, genetically modified or not, will take several weeks to establish themselves and grow to a point where we can even begin to think about harvesting them. In the meantime, establishing lichen growth along the walls will help protect the soil and growing plants from air pollution. Mushrooms can be grown quickly and, depending on species, can be useful as food _or_ medicine and some psychoactive species are in high demand over in Kras city. Everyone knows Mr Jak arranged for the funds we needed to get established in the Port - all it takes is a few hours of gathering and we can start working on paying him back!"

Jak cleared his throat, making Bo - who hadn't actually realised he was standing right there - startle.

"There's no need to pay me back." He said firmly. "However," He turned to look at Argo. "It does sound like a good idea. If you're running low on men, Dax and I will volunteer."

Argo stiffened slightly and shook his head.

"Thank you, sir, but that's not necessary. If it needs to be done, it can be - I just wanted to make sure the list was as short as possible, to reduce the risk."

Somewhat abashed, Jak just nodded.

"Jak! Daxter!" Samos yelled, gliding down to join the small group. "What are you still doing here? You're supposed to be shutting down the War Factory."

Jak held up his hands.

"We wanted to see you in action." He placated, ignoring Dax's scoff. Samos just drew himself up.

"Well, you've missed the first part." He berated them, before floating higher again and assuming a commanding tone. "I've cleared the area surrounding the barricade!" He announced. "Tear it town!"

Argo _twitched_. Jak grinned a bit and nudged him. Argo looked over.

"_You're_ in command." Jak reminded him. "Not Samos."

Argo stared at him for a second longer, then drew a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"Belay that!" He shouted, as several volunteers had confusedly begun to try and pull the barricade apart. "Until the Agri-Sector is secured, the barricade remains. Bateman! Rig up a ferry system for tools and machinery. Everyone else, stick to your groups and follow your group leader one at a time over the barricade. Don't forget to mark out cleared land and call in any contamination you find. Go!"

They went, a ladder secured to the barricade helping them climb up and over quickly. A Guard rested at the top, ready to help people either way and pull up the ladders on either side if needed.

Samos floated back down again, annoyed but silent.

"We're off, then." Jak offered, more to Argo than Samos. "Good luck."

It was only a few minutes before they were back in the Hellcat, rising steadily up over the Port. On their way out, they cruised over the Agri-Sector. Despite his temper, Samos _was_ working hard at converting the liquid eco to vapour and was directing it into several large storage cannisters which Jak hadn't thought of. The ground left behind was sodden and richly black but without even the slightest scrap of growth. Still, the volunteers were industrious, the guards were vigilant and Jak couldn't see any enemies lurking with his enhanced vision so he tilted the hellcat up at last and made for the floating War Factory.

One enemy down, if not out. Time to make it two.

**J&D J&D J&D**

Those of you who popped over to check out the progress of this chapter know how close it's been to finished for _so damned long_.

Sorry for the wait, the last little bit was just being incredibly difficult. We're also renovating the house to be sold which is a lot more work than the TV makes it out to be. ^-^

Probably a bit of a break before the next chapter. Errol is in it and I haven't decided if I'm going canon or not…


	15. Chapter 15

If you don't already, I recommend this fic be read in ¾ mode. And does anyone know a way around ff.n's stripping of font size changes? Daxter often has 'sotto voice' lines that just turn into normal lines when posted…

I had to do a bit of fiddling with the hellcat's bomb system and the factory's design. It was that or strip it out entirely. Considering the wide open doors (and walls, and floors) of the factory that you can see from the inside, and the fact that you can out-fly the defences? Yeah. So there are no open floors and the hellcat can only drop bombs, not shoot them in a straight line.

Also, my native spelling is English. But the characters have American accents. Mostly I avoid Mum/Mom issues by using the word 'mother' but in this chapter I say 'Mom' because 'Mum' sounds weird with their accent in my head. What do you guys think? Should spelling be split like that? Should it all be American if the voices are? (But then what about Rayne?)

**J&D J&D J&D**

"_Baron Praxis needs this war to keep in power. Otherwise the city would put the true ruler on the throne. Wherever that little brat is…"_ ~ Krew

The War Factory was more like a fortress. Hanging in the sky just beyond Haven's borders, the floating building should have been cold and still. Ashelin had shut it down in a big ceremony several month ago - a symbol, both of her less severe rule and reduced need for tools of war in the future. Jak vaguely remembered Dax and Tess talking about it back when he was just a Dark Eco Freak without vengeance or purpose, skating the line between depression and self-destruction.

Thank the Precursors for light eco. For the events that had allowed him the chance to balance his own psyche.

The War Factory looming ahead of them was _not_ cold and still. There was also no chance that a single forgotten construction line had been left running - the whole thing was humming with activity. Sleek little scout-bots - fliers with weak red eco cannons that were intended mostly for surveillance - circled it like bees around a nest, whilst cannons lining the staggered platforms whined as they swivelled constantly, looking for enemies to shoot down.

"How, are we supposed get past _those_?" Dax asked on cue. "Let's just go back and say nobody was home."

Jak chewed lightly on the inside of his cheek as he brought the hellcat to a halt well outside the apparent range of the defensive system. His fingers drummed the steering wheel absently, enhanced eyes narrowed as he tried to find a weakness, a way in.

"…Hang on, this button looks new…" Dax's words were accompanied by a building whine, followed by a blast of blue-eco power which detonated upon hitting an unfortunate scout-bot.

Man and ottsel slanted each other grins full of teeth.

"I think we just found our way in." Jak gunned the engine, sending the hellcat shooting forward. Long-range surveillance drones peeled away from their patrols to intercept him but their feeble lasers did only topical damage if they weren't avoided entirely. The turrets, too, were designed to repel invading forces which by necessity would have to move slowly enough to either engage with the defences or drop troops.

Jak and Dax, as usual, ran off of a different script. They shot over the facility at full burn, four or five times, always too fast for the defences and both keeping a sharp eye out for the best target.

After all, why break in if you could blow it out of the sky?

Unfortunately and much to Daxter's disappointment, the external floors were all armoured to protect the anti-gravity generator beneath the fortress and their hellcat could only _drop_ the semi-liquid, unstable blue eco bombs.

So, they could either use the vehicle's lasers and bombs to hunt down and eradicate all defensive systems, or…

They could drop a bomb in just the right place and blow themselves an entry point.

Jak kept their speed up, circling the facility to try and pick out the least-armoured point whilst Daxter gleefully took over their roof-mounted cannons and blasted away at the inferior drones still harassing them.

Then, when the only oncoming fire came from painfully slow KG turrets, Jak picked his target and _made a hole_.

One more rapid fly-by was all he needed to ensure the space inside was large enough to park the hellcat and then he was swooping in and setting down, nothing surrounding them but raw materials in storage, the turrets outside whining as they cooled - their target mysteriously gone.

"That was lucky." Jak observed, powering down and hopping out with gun already in hand. On his shoulder, Dax slapped the back of his head - _hard_.

"You _never say that_." The ottsel hissed furiously. "Thanks a lot, Jak. I just _know_ _**I'm **_the one who's gonna pay for that."

_J&D J&D J&D_

The War Factory had a surprising amount of internal defences too. Jak supposed he shouldn't _be _surprised, considering the Baron's pathological need to both build weapons _and_ defend against Metal Heads, but the shabby exterior defence had lowered his expectations.

Maybe that had been the Baron's intention, too. The filth had always had a reason for everything. Even his choice of Jak himself for his experiments. Errol hadn't stumbled across him randomly, after all. He remembered - "_We've been waiting for you"_. He remembered - "_I was informed that __**this **__one might be __**different**__!"_

After all this was done, maybe he'd go looking for the answers he once hadn't wanted to find. Hadn't been strong enough to handle.

Because he was strong enough now.

"Heads up, Jak!" Daxter leapt from his shoulder to a pipe, from the pipe to the wall then to a grate in the ceiling as Jak dove to the right and opened fire on a mess of flying armoured that weren't destroyed were driven back, directly beneath a heat vent which Dax had painstakingly shoved into position above them. A blast of runoff heat and their power cells erupted, blasting them into shrapnel.

Jak ran for the next room, _finally_ finding where they were all coming from. A dome in the ceiling kept sliding open, dropping bots like an egg sac dropping baby spiders.

"Oh, _great_." Dax groused, having slipped in through high ventilation grating. His sharp eyes and sharper mind were already casting about for a solution but there was an unforgivable _lack _of levers or buttons which could be used to lock the dome closed. For all intents and purposes, this enemy could be endless - unlike his supply of ammo or Dark Eco.

This enemy could overwhelm him through sheer numbers, if they couldn't find a way to _shut off that dome_.

With a squeal of abused electronics, his comm came to life.

"_Oh man, who still uses __**this**_ _junk?"_

"Is that-?" Jak demanded, incredulous, before rolling behind cover to reload.

"It can't be." Dax denied flatly, taking a running jump onto the back of a bot and scrambling to slip his tiny paws beneath the armour, snatching and yanking at wires in an attempt to kill it.

"_It is!" _The comm chirruped. "_It took me a while to compile - my brain is no junior meal, if you know what I mean - but I'm living large! Safe within the eco-grid, well away from monsters of any kind! I, er, think."_

"Vin?!" Daxter and Jak asked in unison. It had been over a year since they'd borne helpless witness to the sound of Vin's last moments, his terror as Metal Heads forced their way into the power station and murdered him, his cry for Jak to help him. It had been a reflex on Vin's part and Jak had been much too far away to stand a chance of rescuing him… but it had eaten at him regardless. He and Dax both had later been horrified to receive a _second_ call, from a mutilated and dying Vin, gasping out his last breath in a selfless attempt to pass vital information. (Could they have saved him, if they'd gone back immediately? Could they have saved him, if they'd called _someone else_?)

For all his fear of being found out and killed, Vin had been one of the bravest people they'd known.

Once Kor had been destroyed, Jak had combed the city for Metal Heads to kill. His single-minded massacre of any invading creature he found had no doubt contributed to the positive image the average civilian had of him, but he hadn't been doing it for _them_. Not a single precursor-damned one of them. He just hadn't been able to pay his respects at Vin's funeral - hadn't been able to handle his own emotions well enough to be _safe _enough to go, so he'd taken it out on the scum who'd slaughtered the defenceless - and _good_ - man.

A man who was now talking to them. Through his comm. Like a…

"Ghost!" Dax yelped, yanking on something that caused the bot he was riding to fire wildly in circles, taking out three of its allies. Jak slammed a fresh clip into place and rolled to a different position before ducking up to take out the remainder of their current batch of enemies.

"_I'm no ghost, I'm a multi-layered hyper linking digi-memoc-bio-construct-"_

"Little busy for the long version, Vin!" Jak shouted, as the dome opened _again_ to spew another half-dozen aerial bots.

"_Oh! Er, right. Sorry. Hang on, this is trickier than it could be, what with this corroding copper wire you call a communications device. Seriously, this thing doesn't even run off eco…" _

The voice went away. The machines around them, the ebb and flow of their power and movement and computations _stuttered_.

The half-open dome closed, crushing a bot, and remaining steadfastly shut against the clanging of bottlenecked war machines inside it.

"_Voila!" _Vin cheered. "_I may not be able to send more than the slightest fraction of myself at any one __moment but it's __**more**_ _than enough for this floating embarrassment of a computer system. That Baron Praxis was always a jock about security - all guns and no brains."_

"Vin, buddy," Jak grinned. "It is good to hear your voice." Dax dropped onto his shoulder and the two of them exchanged a victory fist-bump. Neither could stop grinning.

"_Uh, yeah, sorry it took me so long. Like I said, the mother of all compiling jobs and after that, well. You know. Anyway, I caught a wire that you were headin' on up here and I figured I'd see what I could do to help."_

"Thanks Vin." Jak was more than a little humbled. Vin had _died_ helping them. He didn't need to keep doing it.

"_Well, it's only fair." _Vin rambled, a shadow of his usual nerves making his voice a little shaky. Or maybe that was just the cruddy comm. "_What with you savin' the city, 'n all. And I'm not talkin' about last year with the Metal Heads and the bombs and the Baron. I'm talkin' about right __**now**_ _Jak. You probably don't know, but my niece is one of the people you've got tucked away safe in the Port - and more 'n that, she's got a full stomach and a warm place to sleep at night. She hasn't had that since… well, too long. So, uh. Anythin' I can do to help you, you just gotta say the word."_

Jak blinked. Traded a startled look with Dax.

"Vin, buddy." He breathed. "I.. didn't know. What's her name? Dax and I can-"

"_Uhh, thanks, but you kinda already have." _Vin evaded. "_She was having a hard time of it, but since she got brought into the Port, well… you've inspired a whole bunch of people, a whole bunch of changes, Jak. According to the data entered into the civil system, she's signed on to help with the Agri-sector redevelopment. The plans being hashed out are looking to improve productivity by more than 200% - which means more job openings. I know she'll be happy there."_

Despite himself, despite a voice in the back of his mind that pointed out not _all_ of the people brought into the Port had such happy endings waiting for them outside it, Jak felt a curl of warmth. He wasn't sure how _he'd_ inspired anyone to do any of this, but he was thankful that Vin's family would be okay. It didn't make up for not saving Vin, but it came close.

"…How do you _know_ all this?" Dax asked, baffled and a little creeped out.

"_I'm part of the eco-grid now._" Vin answered simply. "_There aren't many places it doesn't go."_

"Well, that's _my_ daily quota of uncomfortable revelations." Dax said, amused behind the acerbic curtain. "And we _do_ have a Factory to shut down. So, ya hyper-layered doohickey, any chance you can get that for us?"

"_Not from here." _Vin reported apologetically. "_The Factory is closed to outside wireless contact. The best I can do is piggyback off of your comm. I can access the systems closest to you, but they're all __wired one-way. If you can get to the main control room? I can access the system there and issue the total shut-down command for everything."_

"Will that be enough?" Jak wondered. "Whoever stole access to this place could just get in here and start it up again. Couldn't they?"

Vin was silent for a _long_ moment.

"_Well…" _His reluctance was obvious. "_There __**is**_ _another way. The Baron, he… he had me build a virus, once. Back when he was considering a hostile takeover of Kras city, before the Metal Heads made just defending the shield wall too much to handle."_

"You can make machines sick?" Jack checked disbelievingly.

"_Oh, sure, it's easy when you know how. And, uh, nobody knew 'em better than me. This virus, it's… a killer. It'll butcher everything it touches, make restoration impossible - heck, it's designed to adapt to any system it's in and try to find a way to make it self-destruct! If it ever got into Haven's systems… Well, I don't like to think about it."_

"Could it?" Jak checked. He might not understand this computer stuff, but he knew the right questions to ask those who _did_. "Vin, is there the slightest chance…?"

Another long pause.

"_No. No, I can make it so it self-destructs after. Nice and thorough, so nothing can be recovered from the wrecks it leaves behind."_

Jak stood. "Vin. You're a genius."

Vin chuckled, then sighed.

"_Sometimes I sure wish I weren't."_

Getting through the factory was much easier after that. Vin could open and close doors, re-route conveyor belts and transport platforms as well as guiding them through the massive building in a twisting path he swore was a shortcut. It didn't take more than 40 minutes before they were locking the door behind them as they entered the main control room.

For such an important location, it sure was claustrophobic. The ceiling was low, forcing Jak to duck his head and Dax to jump down to floor level. Screens lined the circular wall, installed over multiple chunky machines that bore buttons and flashing lights in what seemed to be random patterns. Half of them didn't even seem to be labelled.

"_Okay, look for a section with two rectangular holes about three inches apart. You should be able to plug me in, just like you're charging the comm. Oh __**precursors**_ _I can't believe I'm in something that needs to be __**charged**__. I hope the other bit brains never find out."_

Jak shook his head, helpless against another grin. For all his fussing, this Vin just sounded… _happier_. Content in a way he'd always been too frightened to achieve in life.

The comm slid into the terminal with a smooth click, the pattern of flashing lights almost immediately changing.

"Is it done?" Daxter asked immediately.

"_Not quite." _Vin replied after a long moment. "_I'm gonna have to upload myself in full, if I'm gonna have a chance of controlling this virus, and we're talking petabytes of data here. Just make sure you don't remove the comm until I say so."_

"Then what are _we_ supposed to do in the meantime? Cultivate our nose hairs?" Daxter complained, already strolling along the row of consoles with his paws behind his back, inspecting the monitors with the air of an art critic.

He stepped on a button which immediately caused several around it to flash red. One of the screens shut down.  
"Don't worry, I got this!" He stepped on it again. More buttons became backlit in red, as the factory began to shudder.

"Third time's the charm!" A thread of anxiety twisted through his voice as he hammered his foot against it. His tail, swinging hard to counterbalance him, slapped several other buttons.

There was the distinct sound of a massive engine abruptly powering down, followed by the slightest hint of weightlessness…

"_Gahh! What are you __**doing**__?!" _A spark arced from the console to Daxter's foot, shocking the ottsel off and onto the floor. Immediately after, the lights reverted to normal and gravity reasserted itself. "_You tryin' to __**kill us**__?! Jak, please, just - go look out a window or something. Try not to shoot - or touch - anything. I'll call you two when I'm done, okay?"_

"You got it, Vin." Jak glared at Dax, who sheepishly ignored him as he jumped up to his usual perch.

"_Try the observation deck, out the door to your left, third exit." _Vin advised, relief obvious. "_Shouldn't be anything running around in there. Just stay out of trouble, 'cause there's something weird going on in this system… If you get in trouble, there's a good chance I won't notice."_

"We ain't no newbies." Daxter tossed back, as Jak made for the exit. "If there's any trouble, it'll be _us_ makin' it!

"_That's what I'm afraid of." _Vin returned dryly, as the door closed behind the pair of heroes. "_Okay now… what is going on in here…"_

_J&D J&D J&D_

"_**Checkitout**_!"

Pike flicked disinterested eyes up at his two (barely) little sisters. Sure, he'd admit at gunpoint that he loved them - but Precursors, why couldn't they have been _boys_? Boys were cool. And fun. And not girls.

"What?" He yawned, pretending he was _deeply involved_ in writing a new song and _not_ daydreaming about joining the Underground and going on adventures with Mr Jak. Because he wasn't. Especially if what Bolt said was true and Mr Jak was… was actually..

"_**Look**_!" Four hands were thrust in his face, nails shimmering metallic orange. Pike looked up again to fix an outright pained expression on them both. How hard was it for them to remember that _he was a guy_! He didn't care about stupid girly stuff like nails and bags and shoes and- and-

"And look! It _matches_!"

And matching shimmering earrings. Guh. Even if he thought maybe just _one _earring might be cool, or maybe like three, or maybe a tattooed ear-sleeve, whether or not it _matched his nails_ would be something he'd happily die not caring about.

"Did you get your earrings painted?!" He blurted, belatedly realising his sisters probably hadn't bought _new_ earrings around here, that just happened to look identical to Berry's studs and Leaf's dangly things. "Mom is going to go spare!"

"We're showing our loyalties." Berry huffed, both sisters looking unimpressed with his lack of enthusiasm.

"Down with the usurper!" Leaf cheered, a vindictive gleam in her eyes. "Up with Prin-!"

Pike lunged forward, paper and pencils scattering as he slammed his hand over her mouth.

"Idiot!" He hissed, eyes darting around. The three of them were just outside and to the right of the Naughty Ottsel. There were people kinda nearby, but none that seemed to be paying any attention. "That's need-to-know information. Bolt wasn't even supposed to tell _us_. Don't blab it, you blabbermouth!"

Leaf wrenched his hand off with a scowl.

"Why shouldn't I?" She challenged hotly. "Why shouldn't we tell _everyone_? There's an heir to the throne, a real actual heir who also happens to be the _real_ hero of the war - the one who saved us all and is saving us again now! That skanky redheaded throne-stealer has _no right_ to rule! It's our _duty_ to-"

"_It's our __**duty**_ _to follow his orders._" Pike hissed, never more serious about anything in his life. "You can't have it both ways, Leaf. You can't hold him up as a Prince and rightful ruler and then just ignore his wishes. You're always tellin' me about how girls are more mature than boys - so prove it!"

Eyes narrowed to slits, Leaf turned on her heel and stalked off into the crowd.

"We didn't get coloured for the Prince." Berry explained softly, chewing her lip as she knelt and gathered the scattered paper and pencils. Pike helped her with numb fingers. He never felt good after fighting with one of his sisters, even when he knew he was in the right. Silently, he shuffled the paper with a sketch of a badass Dark Jak lounging on a throne of dead Metal Head to the bottom of the pile.

"We got coloured for Mr Jak." Berry handed him what she'd picked up, her coppery nails catching the light. "Everyone's doing it, even some of the guards."

Pike sighed and stood up straight.

"I get it, Bears. But." He paused. Breathed out hard as he scrubbed at his head with one hand. He wasn't sure how to say this. Wasn't even sure in his own head what he was trying to say.

"There's a difference…" He said slowly, feeling the words as he went. "Between wearing his colours in support of _him_. And wearing his colours _against_ Governor Ashelin."

Berry frowned, first at him and then out at the sea of people filling the Port, most wearing orange on them somewhere.

"…When did you get so smart?" She slanted a look back at him, trying to smile. Mostly she just looked bummed.

"I'm smart!" Pike retorted with half-hearted indignation. "They don't hand out twin little sisters to just _any_ big brothers, you know!"

That got him rolled eyes, but at least it was paired with a bigger smile.

"I'll go find Leaf." She offered. "Before she tells Bolt you wet the bed until you were-"  
"_Thank you_, Berry!" He glared, maintaining it as she giggled and slipped away. Then he rolled his own eyes, stuffed everything in his hand into his bag and slunk back into the Naughty Ottsel.

Sitting on the edge of the roof above them, gun over his knees, a volunteer watched them go.

_J&D J&D J&D_

"You're kidding" Daxter complained flatly. "_Glass _floors? In a war factory? Miles up in the air?! I'd like to punch the guy who designed this place right in the kisser."

"**A General must view the field of war - and their enemy's destruction**."

Jak's head snapped up.

Above them, circling the room, was a narrow track interspersed with four wider platforms. Each platform had a thin railing to prevent an observer from taking a tumble. Someone – or some _thing_ – was occupying the one directly ahead and above them.

"**Hello, Jak.**" One cruel yellow eye and one glaring red optic looked down from a mess of flesh and metal. The creature's voice - crackling like a broken speaker - was familiar, but the face… half of it gone, the rest stretched over metal fused with bone… was instantly recognisable.

"Errol" Jak realised. The name bore no emotion, no killing snarl. The shock of seeing him alive after all this time overpowered everything else.

The first emotion that struggled back was, shamefully, fear.

He'd thought there wasn't anything left _to_ fear, anymore. The day that Errol had crashed into those barrels...

"The barrels." He breathed. "They were full of Dark Eco. How are you alive?"

Errol leant against the railing with the poise of a lord and the precision of a machine.

"**How are **_**you**_**?**" The cyborg returned silkily, smiling like they were all friends here. "**My posting in the Dark Warrior Program had more perks than just playing with the inmates, Jak. Everyone but the experiments were inoculated to withstand a degree of dark eco exposure. Every time one of you lab rats survived a new procedure, **_**we**_ **got a new – more effective – formula.**" He laughed, a genteel little sound. "**I suppose,**" he mused "**that I should thank you, Jak. In the end, it was the data gathered on **_**you**_ **that enabled the scientists to keep me alive despite massive over-exposure. I'm sure you agree, my survival makes everything you suffered seem... worth it.**"

Jak snarled, anger finally stirred enough to shove the knee-jerk fear aside.

"You call this alive?" He shot back, Daxter bristling on his shoulder. "Look at yourself!"

"**Hmm, perhaps you're right.**" Errol crooned, lovingly flexing the massive metal claw that had replaced most of his left forearm. It was reminiscent of a Metal Head limb, for all that it was man-made. "**I've really rather **_**transcended**_ **what I was before. I'm beyond your pathetic comprehension.**" He looked back down at Jak, eye fever-bright.

"**I've seen into the darkness, Jak. I've seen what true power is, in the realm beyond the light. This puny world, this ugly, messy little planet. I'm ashamed to have once been part of it. My last gift to it, my thank-you for enabling my existence, **_**will be to destroy it**_**!**"

"Holy Yakkows.." Daxter muttered. "This guy's sanity needs a dipstick."

"Little late for that." Jak murmured back, running light fingers over his gun. He needed to switch out from scatter mode to something with a little more force, but the noise of the gun changing would give him away. "He's been running on empty for a _long_ time."

"**You know.**" Errol said dreamily, still watching him closely, optic whining as it zoomed in and recorded every inch of him. "**I think I might actually miss you, Jak. I've thought about you, over the last long years.**"

The crazy friendliness drained away, the few remaining stretches of his skin slackening in cold inspection.

"**I thought of you... in the dark. The memory of you... of your screams... they kept me sane. Kept me focused.**"

"Creep." Dax said loudly, trying to draw the cyborg's attention. He failed. For Errol, right now, no-one else existed but Jak.

"**The thought of what I would do to you...**" Errol continued quietly, intent and inhuman. "**Oh, Jak. When I render this world into slag, **_**do**_ **try to survive. I'll need something to... play with.**"

Jak's lips curled back from his teeth, dark energy crackling behind them.

"Play with this." He growled, switching modes and pulling the trigger in one smooth move.

**J&D J&D J&D**

Things have been going quite well for Jak, haven't they? Yeah, that stops right about now.

What do _you_ think should happen regarding the leadership of the city? I have a plan in place, but I'd be interested to know what you all think _should_ happen. (Also, I was thinking, with all this 'House Colour' business… what were Damas' colours? Copper and gold? Salmon and Bronze?)

And, uh, sorry. That this whole chapter covers so little plot. But, c'mon, how could I pass up finishing on such a brilliantly cheesy line? I delayed posting for a couple of days to see if I could finish the next chapter and post them together. Then I realised I was already a week behind in my classes. Noooo!

Check my bio if you want to keep an eye on wordcount progression.

Gratitude to the kind people who slapped me around and demanded progress!


	16. Chapter 16

TWO CHAPTERS WITHIN A WEEK, BABY! Twenty two pages written in 4 days!

I had some critique for the last chapter and I was very excited until I realised that the person hadn't logged in so I couldn't get some more detail. Darnit!

In regard to house colours, blue seems to be favoured over salmon. No idea why. Damas and Kleiver both wear blue accents with their desert-orange, though. So does Sig. And Torn. And Ashelin.

…Wait.

Veger fancies himself a bit of a Precursor scholar, hence his preference for the term 'Hora-Quan' over 'Metal Head' - the poor guy sometimes has to lower himself to using the common term when addressing the uneducated, though.

Warning for some (actually, quite a bit) swearing in this chapter!

**J&D J&D J&D**

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen, come to order. As Chairman of the Grand Council of Haven City, I now open the morning session. On this day, Lady Praxis sits as Governor of Haven and Keeper of the Peace. In attendance of this morning's session are seven of the eight Noble Lines - Lord Phillox sends his apologies. Before the floor is turned over the the Keeper of Record, Lord Veger has petitioned to address the Council. Lord Veger? You may begin."

Veger stood, smoothing his vest with one absent hand before striding to the podium which was set up directly opposite to the throne. He stood at it now, directly opposed to the pretty little girl who ruled with stolen authority. He smiled at her, challenging, an enemy across the battlefield.

For that was what this was, this council meeting of anxious old men in a battered and empty palace, high above a falling city. Now was the time, with fear and desperation riding high, when breeding showed true and those who were _meant_ to rule rose above the ill-bred chaff. When those with power and vision and could take the reigns from the weak and short-sighted, with naught but a careful word or two.

He had played a long game, much longer than the child glaring at him realised. He had been the force behind the wave that was Baron Praxis' coup. His had been the silver tongue which had garnered support for the radical upstart, promoted from the rank and file to nobility so recently by the King himself.

He had been the victor, when the King's most trusted had turned against him and taken his throne by force. He had been wise and patient both, allowing Praxis to absorb the reflexive hate of the populace, allowing Praxis to upload his position of Peace Keeper through force.

He allowed Praxis to fight for him, to find a way to win the war… at which point he would have then swiftly deposed the deposer. Become a hero to the common folk, for removing such a universally hated man. He would have been beloved as reflexively as Praxis had been hated - none of the work, with all of the gain.

He would have, if not for Jak.

The pitiable, contemptible, unnatural monster that had been forged in the heat of Praxis' desperation and Errol's eager sadism.

He had never understood precisely _why_ the Baron had believed in number 4-23 so much, to the point where their shared meals were wasted on useless recounts of new thresholds reached and plans for future mass production. Any fool could see that the single success within the Dark Warrior Program was a fluke, otherwise there wouldn't just be _one_. But no, the Baron had rambled on about power readings and clone-growing and R&D's clever new cybernetic creations which would be used to ensure absolute obedience…

He had been, in the end, just a soldier craving a bigger gun. And Errol? Had been just as obsessive - just as wedded to the concept of using fire against fire, Dark Eco Warriors against creatures comprised of Dark Eco. A destructive loop to cleanse the world.

Fools. Mar himself had known that Light Eco was the key to victory, although Precursors only knew why he had sealed the vents so long ago. For a man so infamous for his foresight… Well, perhaps he had foreseen his own failed progeny. Just as he had foreseen the need for his line's replacement.

"Gentlemen of the council." Veger began. Paused. Inclined his head a calculated fraction to the beautiful but oh-so-ill-suited woman on the throne. "Governor."

"We all know why I requested to speak." He began. "Our city, our home, is crumbling. Haven has been penetrated by our ancient enemy for the second time in as many years, an enemy which has consumed almost all of our agricultural sector and which runs uncontested through our streets."

Lady Praxis' delicate little fists clenched along with her jaw. She obeyed protocol, however, and kept her silence.

Good girl.

"After almost 400 consecutive years of resistance, of _victory_ against the invading armies of the Hora-Quan, of the Metal Heads, we have stumbled. Not only do we lie broken and helpless before our foe, but the automated defence force built to protect us - funded by taxes as well as our own generous pockets - has turned against us! Machines built for obedience have been allowed to be stolen from us to serve our enemy!"

Many in the council were shifting. The cowards grew yet more fearful. The followers, those who begged for scraps and favours, were frothing with eagerness to sink their teeth into a blame figure. To either do something or be _seen_ to do something. His own men simply waited, ready to fall in line.

Lady Praxis had no friends here. There could _be _no clearer indication of her unworthiness to rule.

"I am, I'm afraid, compelled to draw attention to the common factor in our recent woes. With utmost respect, but humble obedience to my duty… I put before the council the reality that such obscene losses - the beautiful Coastal District, the infestation of insectoid Hora-Quan, the two successful breaches of our walls _and_ the construction and then defection of our mechanised military force - can all be traced firmly to the feet of the Line Praxis."

"Objection!" As expected, Lady Praxis leapt to her feet the second procedure permitted her. Too late, however. She had allowed him to sow the seeds of her destruction.

"Point of Order:" The Lady addressed the Chairman, though her burning gaze never wavered from Veger's own coolly confident one. "Lord Veger has already attempted to derail this council from finding solutions by casting blame. It was only in last week's session that he sung a completely different tune - seeking to lay blame upon _me_ for my _Father's_ wartime decisions and blame for the Metal Heads not on either of us but instead an innocent member of the Resistance to whom we _all_ owe our gratitude for doing what _no-one_ before him - not even Mar - could do. Killing the Metal Head leader!"

"An impassioned defence." Veger observed. "I note it burns more brightly for this 'resistance member' than it does for your own father and yourself. This would be the same resistance member with whom you kept in touch, yes? Entrusted the Port defence to, no less. A heady position of authority for anyone, let alone a previously subversive element - one who, I am forced by my duty to remind the council - is of known mental instability, violent inclination and proven criminal conduct."

The noise in the chamber rose sharply as the mindless dogs began to call for immediate arrests and the Chairman shouted for decorum.

Veger simply stood still, a rock against the tide, serene and in control.

The Governor, by contract, was flushed red with anger.

"All resistance members were pardoned!" Ashelin snapped back. Veger let the silence in the wake of her response hang for a long, delicious moment. Just enough for it to be clear to all that she had failed to deny the first two aspersions - giving them more weight by leaping to refute her assumption of his meaning of the third.

And also, he considered, as he repressed the urge to smile, reminded them all that not too long ago _she_ had been a member of the resistance. Had worked against the city. Had, in essence, pardoned _herself_.

"I was referring to his connection with the Gang Lord, Krew." He parried mildly, adding just the faintest touch of patient condescension.

Admirably, the woman didn't miss a beat.

"Jak worked as a Wastelander. His only connection with Krew was delivery of artifacts for credit and weapons upgrades." She fought back, all strength and little style. "Although not completely legal, it was no more so than any other Wastelander - who have been overlooked by the law for decades, since their contributions have a knock-on effect of improving the economy."

"Ah yes, Jak." Veger spoke with an air of someone only just recalling. "That is a name we are all familiar with. Your father used to speak with me quite often about his most successful Dark Warrior volunteer." He adopted a look of concern. "A prisoner, who slaughtered his way out of the most secure facility in Haven and continued to murder on the streets until he was eventually aimed at our enemy by the resistance."

"My dear girl - surely these two men are not one and the same?"

Ashelin's eyes narrowed to poisonous slits, even as the Chairman censured Veger for failing to address the Lady by her title.

"Jak was no volunteer." She hissed. "He was taken off the street and you know it. He can't be faulted for trying to escape the Program, nor for fighting to stay free when Guards attempted to bring him in again."

"Taken off the street." Veger echoed theatrically, a light frown precisely creasing his forehead. "So I am to understand that the Baron Praxis gave such the heinous order to abduct our citizens, the Guard wilfully obeyed and _you_ Lady Praxis, belonged to both. I must say, I applaud your ability to cultivate such a… _close_ relationship with him, despite all that."

"I don't care for your sordid insinuations, Lord Veger." The Lady cut him curtly off. "Nor for your ongoing quest to waste our time trying to _pin blame_ instead of build solutions-"

"Spoken like someone trying to _dodge_ blame." Veger countered. "And these concerns will be raised, Lady _Praxis_, as many times as necessary for _action _to be _taken_." He straightened his back, projected his voice to carry throughout the chamber.

"And the action I respectfully suggest we take, is to remove the common factor in our recent deluge of problems." To throw her off, he bowed.

"Lady Praxis, you did not rest upon your status as the Baron's daughter but instead served us as your father once did - as a Krimzon Guard. It is this admirable sense of duty and service to the people that I call upon when I request that you _step down_ as Governor of Haven City, at least until such time as the current crisis has been resolved."

Silence. Every eye turned to the Governor.

Utterly alone, she drew herself up and stiffened her spine against them all.

A solider like her father before her.

She did not belong here.

"My duty _isn't_ to bow to pressure from a man looking to eliminate political threats over the city's well-being." The Lady said flatly. "I will retain my position until the crisis is resolved - _which_" she added sharply "will be soon. Men have been sent to the War Factory to shut it down and the last report from the Port prior to this meeting included the news that an assault by _Jak, _the Port Guard and some civilian volunteers had successfully eradicated the Metal Head presence in the Agri-sector."

The silence was abruptly broken, this time much more positively for the redheaded Lady. Veger's expression froze as the cowards straightened and murmured hopefully amongst themselves and the snivelling swing-voting dogs began applauding.

"Well, that _is_ good news." He replied, hearing himself from a distance. All he could see was the tiny smirk curling the Praxis bitch's lips.

"I'm glad you think so. It's just the beginning." She broke their locked gaze, turning sharp eyes to every member of the council. All but two dropped theirs from hers.

"If there are no _other_ objections, I will continue serving Haven in my current position, via my current methods. Once the city has been cleared, we can revisit the contest of leadership - before the public."

She gave them all a sharp little smile.

"After all, regime changes in dark little corners with no witnesses tends to give the impression that something underhanded is going on - we wouldn't want _that_, would we?"

"I believe your points have been made, Lord Veger, Lady Praxis." The chairman waved a hand and Veger had to bite back a snarl as the weak-minded council mass swung temporarily back in favour of the only female amongst them. He would have to waste yet _more_ time moving in the shadows, scrambling to save this world and these petty, _ignorant_ fools.

Ashelin resumed her seat upon the throne. Veger took his seat to the side.

"Moving on, Keeper of Record? Today's business, if you please."

Voices ebbed and flowed but Veger was deaf to them all.

Once again, it came down to Jak. Ashelin _was_ as weak as he judged her to be. Were it not for her grasp upon the dark eco freak she would have fallen before today's calculated strike. It was _Jak's_ success in the Port that had saved her today.

Jak, it seemed, was the lynchpin. The catalyst. The creature who seemed to be everything the Baron had ever dreamed of creating, with only the small issue of taking orders from - it seemed - anyone but him.

Today's failure was his own fault for targeting the wrong obstruction. Jak should have been his first priority. Remove _him_ and his unnatural powers and the weaklings who built their own power upon him would fall.

But before that…

His eyes narrowed.

Before that, he had one little task to complete.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Errol dove away from the blast of yellow eco, laughing as he went. His new metal body, despite whirring with every move, was so _fast_. Jak fired several shots in a row, adjusting as he went to try and anticipate the maniac's destination before he reached it.

Every shot failed, Errol twisting or jumping or rolling and _still __laughing_ like it was all just a game and Jak wasn't trying his level best to **kill the fucker**.

Trying his level best and _failing_.

Fine. Time to take it to the _next _level.

He barely had to reach before the dark eco inside him surged to the surface, blood-hungry and eager.

It hurt. It always hurt. It didn't get better with time or practice and it always _always_ caught him slightly off-guard. It also took a second of time away from him, a moment of fleeting insanity where the world no longer existed.

It was the second Errol had been waiting for. As Jak hunched around his gun in agony, Daxter bristling on his shoulder, Errol paused. Turned. Aimed.

Fired.

Jak took the thick burning bolt of red eco dead in the chest, flesh sizzling and melting as the concussive force blew him backwards into the wall and spider-cracked the glass where he'd been standing.

His morph gun clattered to the floor in two separate, red-hot pieces.

"Oh crap! Jak, get up! _Get __**up**_!"

Groaning deep in his throat, Dark Jak rolled to his hands and knees. This form could take a lot of punishment and keep on going - but it wasn't actually quick-healing so much as difficult to badly damage.

The splash of red/pink/**black** destruction around a four inch _crater_ in his chest was something that nothing else had ever managed.

"**Oh, tell me you're not finished al**_**ready**_**. I've hardly even **_**begun**_ **to play.**"

Panting and growling with pain, Dark Jak lifted his head to snarl at his enemy. Dark energy crackled around his arms, earthing against the wall before he pushed himself to his feet and thrust his hands, mindlessly, towards the creature that had almost killed him. Ropes of lighting shot from Jak's body, focused mostly along his hands but with many strands bleeding off to the side.

Once more, Errol evaded his attack. This time, though, stray bolts struck his arm and leg. Errol thrashed, staggered a step, and giggled.

"**That** **tickled. Do it again.**"

Enraged, Jak drew himself up and _roared_. Forgetting or ignoring his pain, he leapt up to grip the metal handrail behind which Errol stood - only to get slapped back down with a _**crack**_ of blue-white electrical energy that was now being fed through it.

Errol laughed again, harder.

"**I **_**made**_ **you, you stupid animal, and I've had a **_**long, agonising **_**year to study your continuing mutation. There is **_**nothing**_ **you can do that I can't counter - or do better!"**

Daxter stared with wide eyes between the insane-but-apparently-functional Errol and his best friend whose already-shaky grasp on humanity seemed to have slipped temporarily away.

There was nothing sentient - nothing human - in his burning black eyes.

There was no _Jak_. There was just the monster who'd woken up in the chair and almost murdered his best friend as a kick-off to his new life as a killing machine.

He hunched down on all fours, animal instinct driving him to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible. What should he do? What _could_ he do, caught between two murderous titans?

Errol's massive arm made a high pitched sound as something inside it reconfigured, then he was shooting blinking metal balls down into the room.

A _sane_ Jak would have recognised them for what they were - shock grenades. A sane Jak would have batted back what he could and either thrown or avoided the rest.

_This _Jak just smacked aside whatever came too close and crouched before leaping powerfully up to Errol's position once more - avoiding the railing this time - and engaging one-on-one.

Leaving Daxter alone amongst oncoming explody death. Yelping, he scampered like the orange lightning he claimed to be and made for the exit. His only hope now was Vin - _surely_ the living computer brain could do _something_.

Behind him, massive sections of floor were blasted into thick shards of glass. Most plummeted to the ground thousands of feet below the factory but some were thrown throughout the room - one nicking his back in a flash of hot pain.

There was no answering roar of fury. Jak hadn't noticed or worse - he had, but hadn't cared.

"Vin!" Daxter yelled, racing down the hallway, ignoring the blood soaking into his fur. "VIN!"

_J&D J&D J&D_

Sitting on a supply crate in the Agri-sector, a peaceful island in a sea of busy workers, Keira cradled her thermos of coffee and tried not to feel guilty that she and Tess were taking a break. They'd worked hard, non-stop, for _days_. They deserved this.

And the kids could _probably_ be trusted with the bar for just a little longer.

"They're too young to _want_ to drink… right?" Tess asked, either reading her mind or just rightfully concerned about leaving alcohol and teenagers in close, unsupervised quarters.

"I think so?" Keira offered weakly. When _she_ had been their age, there hadn't been _any_ alcohol around to even think about trying. Their village had been too small and the only local prone to taking mood-altering substances had been the weird sculptor guy whose name she couldn't remember but whose voice used to make her all fluttery - and his drug of choice had been the various fungi his 'muse' brought home for him.

She hadn't realised quite what they were at the time, of course. She'd really been much more naive at 12-14 than the Haven kids currently holed up in her place of work.

"What about when _you_ were their age?" She asked Tess. Surely a native Havenite would know better.  
Tess just groaned and stuffed another biscuit into her mouth.

"No, don't make me think about that." She masticated. "I'd have been into the hardest stuff in a heartbeat."

Keira blinked but looked away to disguise her semi-appalled shock. She'd had a lot of nasty surprises over the last few years in Haven. She'd had to learn to adjust her expectations and standards on the fly. Still, she took a long sip of her coffee as she watched her dad floating back and forth, giving orders to all and being heeded by none.

"You were a party girl, huh?" She eventually replied, her best attempt at a friendly non-judgemental reply.

"Oh, Precursors, no!" Tess chuckled, sipping from her own thermos. It smelled like herbal tea. "I was just… you know. A dumb kid. And drinking was cool, when you were under-aged. So… if we got the chance? We went for it."

"We?" Keira smiled a little more naturally.

Tess' smile died.

"Just some friends." She shrugged, trying to play it off, even as her fingers gripped her thermos tighter. There was a long pause as Keira tried to find something else to say, then;

"The Baron got them all killed."

Keira bit her lip. Glanced sidelong at her new friend.

"I'm sorry." She offered softly, genuinely.

Tess shot her a quick, practiced smile. There was nothing happy about it.

"Don't be." She said, aiming for polite but coming off brittle. "It detracts from the crimes he committed. Don't offer sympathy for what _he-_"

She choked on emotion, biting her lip _hard_ and turning away for a moment before turning back and taking another drink. Her lower lip was split in two places, both cuts bleeding lightly.

She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and released it.

The two of them were silent for a while longer, slowly demolishing their drinks and snacks as they watched the volunteers and guards move about in a sort of purposeful chaotic mess.

"Two of them were forcibly conscripted." Tess said out of nowhere, just as they were finishing. "They weren't even of adult age yet, they were just tall. I don't know where they died, I just remember their mothers went from worried to crying one day."

Tess didn't look at her and Keira returned the courtesy, staring instead at the skyline of the Stadium in the far distance.

"Three more joined up when Guards came knocking, when- do you remember the old announcements on the loudspeaker? 'Join the Krimzon Guard and your family will be allowed to stay'? Yeah. Guards came knocking and threatened to evict any family which didn't have at least one member in the Guard."

Keira almost asked. _Almost_.

"My brother went." Tess whispered. "I wanted- I wanted us to just _go_. To run to Kras. I was young and… and I thought they'd let us in because I was good with machines."

She looked down, an unamused tilt to her lips.

"I know _now_ that they wouldn't have. They had a zero-tolerance policy for refugees. I might have been allowed into a brothel, but… Anyway, my parents both worked in the industrial zone - the lowest of low paying jobs - so either me or my brother had to go into the Guard if we wanted to stay another day."

"…I didn't want to go." She whispered it like a sin, a shameful secret. "I was scared of them. Of the Guards, the Metal Heads. Of fighting and dying and never seeing my family again. I was scared, and so my brother went instead. I never heard from him again-!"

Her voice cracked as she slumped, shoulders heaving with gasping tears. Dropping her thermos, Keira scooted closer and wrapped her arms around the weeping blonde. Tess just buried her face in her hands and forced out the rest.

"Two years later and there was- was some sort of, of infestation in one of the plants. Metal Head Bugs? Just a stupid little thing but the factory wouldn't pay for an exterminator and the guards never bothered with _bugs_ and all it took was a buildup of some sort of acid in the wrong place and the roof fell in and…"

Keira rubbed her back soothingly, trying to convey that she didn't need to finish. It was obvious enough already that a tiny infestation of bugs had resulted in Tess losing her parents.

"I couldn't cover the rent alone." Tess wobbled on, running the backs of her hands over her cheeks and under her eyes. "So I was turfed to the streets."

"Is that when Torn found you?" Keira asked, unable to help herself from trying to help Tess - from trying to speed the story up to when things started getting better.

Tess laughed, a wet blurt of sound.

"That's when _I _found _him_." She corrected, sniffing grossly to clear her sinuses. "I'd gotten into the habit of wiring parked Krimzon vehicles to blow on start-up. One time I was half-way through a prison transport when this unarmoured, cuffed guy with Krimzon markings just kind of waves at me from the cage and asks to be let out first."

She shot Keira a shy, sheepish look.

"I almost didn't. He was tattooed and - I figured he was probably bait to catch me out. But." She shrugged and didn't go on.

Keira hoped Tess had just decided to chance it, rather than having been so gutted that she didn't care if she was arrested for her crimes.

"..And, that's how I became a member of the Underground." Tess finished, straightening up and making a good attempt at pretending she hadn't just cracked open an old, bleeding wound inside her. "One of the first and only women and - until Jak, at least - one of the most daring."

"I'll say." Keira agreed. "_I _couldn't have handled working so closely with _Krew_. I'm pretty sure Jak couldn't have either."

Tess giggled a little. It was weak, but it was there.

"He _did_ always hoof it pretty quick, whenever he came in." She agreed. "Daxter was much tougher."

"Daxter had something to stay for." Keira remarked dryly, happy to see Tess blush a little even as she stood up and away from Keira's reach.

"He certainly made the job a lot more bearable." She admitted, gathering up her thermos and rubbish. Keira did the same, stretching and sighing as she turned her mind to what was to happen next.

"Are you still okay for the Bar?" Tess checked, concern clear on her face, darker emotions packed neatly away for now. "I can come in for a few if you need to do something - most of my minions are just working on receiving and sorting the last of Kras' shipments right now - and I just need to check the roof-line before-"

"It's fine." Keira waved her off. "I'll shoo the kids off, make a note of anything they've broken or guzzled and then start catching up on what everyone is doing. There shouldn't be such a crush of people now that they're all settled, I think."

She frowned.

"There better not be, anyway. I don't think we have too much in the way of supplies left ourselves."

"I've been thinking about that." Tess commented, as the two girls began to walk back to the Port. Although the ground around them was still dark and empty, it smelled fresh like the Port couldn't hope to achieve.

"We're starting to running dry on supplies - especially ammo. I'm pretty sure the sanitation group are eyeing up the Naughty Ottsel's pipes with less than good intentions too."

"Soooo?"

"So, I was thinking… since we have the Agri-sector back now, and Jak is shutting down the War Factory right now… maybe we could try pushing into the Stadium district? If not to take it back completely - I have no idea if we could manage that or not - then at least for a supply run. What do you think?"

Keira hummed, thinking about it.

"I think it's a good idea." She said finally, climbing the ladder over the barricade into the Port. "Both of them. But, I also think that Jak deserves the grey hairs that come with hard decisions _way_ more than we do, so we should just dump it all on him when he gets back."

Below and behind her, Tess just laughed.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Jak woke up from the Dark, only to find himself hanging by fingertips slick with blood over a gut-wrenching drop.

"**Back with me, Jak?**"

His head snapped up.

Errol.

He'd… he'd lost himself to the Dark for the first time since before he touched the Precursor egg… nothing had ever survived him when he was out of control - nothing except Daxter.

And now Errol.

His heart chilled, fear-spurred adrenaline dumping into his system once more.

Dark Jak was his last resort. His ace. His defence against as many nightmares as it caused. Whenever thoughts of recapture and the chair had scratched at the edge of his mind. Dark Jak had always been his immoral safety blanket.

_It's okay if they catch me. I can kill them, this time. Dark Jak can kill them __**all**__._

Except… apparently, he _couldn't_.

He slipped, fingers slicing further on broken glass as his concentration slipped. He wrestled his attention back, tried to overcome the weakness that followed exhausting his Dark supply through sheer willpower alone.

Errol loomed above him, mechanised feet gripping the steel bars that had once framed the glass squares making up the floor. His 'hands' were tucked behind his back, his balance perfect as he leaned forward to get a good look at Jak's struggle to survive.

Off guard, weakening more by the second and unarmed, Jak's eyes flickered frantically to piece together the situation - to piece together a _plan_.

The floor was all but gone, only twisted crosshatched remains of steel punctuated with broken shards of glass remained. He didn't want to think about the state his fingers were currently in, gripping those shards as hard as they were. Worse though - _Daxter was gone_.

He twisted his head, his body, feet swinging as he threw his own balance off in an attempt to find his best, oldest, most beloved friend.

"**Did you drop something?**" Enquired Errol, saccharine sweet as he glanced pointedly downward.

Jak's blood turned to ice.

No. No, he couldn't have. Not Daxter. He was-was too nimble. Too clever. Faster than Jak and small enough to cling to the same beams _he_ was and, and…

And maybe small enough to not be able to _reach_ one, if he was flung off the shoulder of a berserker Dark Jak. Maybe had lost his life after a terrifying fall, because _Jak_ had lost his self control.

"No." He breathed, desperate, disbelieving denial. But if he hadn't... hadn't fallen… then where was he? Daxter would never leave him alone.

There was a whir of moving parts, before a segmented metal claw _slammed_ down on his right hand.

Jak cried out, the sound of his pain almost entirely snatched away by the high-altitude breeze. Errol leaned closer to hear it, purring satisfaction exemplified by what remained of his face. Jak's hand remained trapped under his foot, no longer gripping the steel beam but being ground down onto the glass until it pierced his glove and flesh with ease.

The agony in his hand throbbed and was echoed by his chest. Glancing down in reflex alone, Jak caught a bare glimpse of burned cloth and skin and something like a _hole in his chest_ before bile climbed up his throat and made an attempt to escape.

He _almost_ swallowed it back. Then Errol twisted his claw-foot just _slightly_.

Glass ground against bone in his hand, and Jak threw up from the pain. A light spray spattered his side and leg - the rest was snatched away by the air.

"**Now, **_**this**_ **is familiar.**" Errol mused. "**You got so sick when we first began. Do you remember? I used to think it was funny. That's why I left you caked in your own filth for days at a time - your shame outweighed the stench.**"

Jak drew in a sharp breath that caught with pain. It sounded like sob, even though it wasn't, and he hated himself for it. For giving Errol _anything_ more than the fucker had already _taken_.

He scrounged within himself for the strength to fight back. To not give in. Precursors, to just _think_ through the encroaching haze of his body shutting down.

He had no weapons. No Dark powers. No Daxter.

He had nothing.

He _was_ nothing.

The grip of his left hand was just beginning to slip when there was a sudden explosion above him and Errol reeled back a step - freeing his right hand.

Damaged as it was, it slipped free, leaving Jak to dangle over void by one cut-up hand alone.

"Hang on, Jak! Just _hang on_!"

"_Eat VinBots, you defective junkyard!_"

"Dax!" Jak groaned, craning his head to try and find where his voice was coming from. Another minor explosion drew his attention to Errol, who was staggering back under the assault of several flying KG bots…

The hell?

Then a flash of orange was above him, tiny paws latching onto his hand, a tiny back straining to take as much of his weight as it could.

"Dax!" Jak greeted, relief making him dizzy. "You're alright. You're ok."

"Thanks for the update." Daxter gritted out. "Just hang on, Jak - VIN! ROPE! _NOW_!"

Almost immediately, a flood of tiny spider bots clicked and clacked their way along the beams to where Jak and Daxter hung precariously. Jak barely had time to try and think of a way to protect Dax before they began to jump on top of each other, interlocking their legs and swiftly building themselves into two lines that ran parallel to his body. With an unnerving flex of delicate metal that normally tried its level best to kill him, they wrapped around his waist and secured themselves firmly before slowly - grinding with the strain - reeling him up.

The Krimzon spider bots were saving his life.

Jak's dark blue eyes met Daxter's, the silent _What the Hell?_ obvious between them.

Daxter grinned, a little shakily thanks to how close they'd cut it.

"Turns out, Veger wasn't responsible for the KG bots teaming up with the Metal Heads after all." He explained quickly, as Errol steadily eradicated a never-ending stream of bots that nevertheless kept him occupied and out of the way. "It was Errol. Vin found him in the system, but Vin's like, a big beefy guy in computer brain terms and kicked his _ass_. Then once Errol was out, he got to work on re-defining the KG bots' operating whatsists, an' now? They're Vin's Bots, baby!"

"Best news I've heard all day." Jak groaned, struggling to one knee as the veritable carpet of spider bots linked together to create a makeshift floor where the glass was gone. His right hand was all but useless, only barely responding to his attempt to move it. The disgusting wound in his chest made him nauseous to even think about let alone look at and his left hand was still slick with his own blood - though at least he could clench it still. His breath was coming in strained pants and he honestly wasn't sure if he could stay conscious much longer.

Oh yeah, and what remained of his morph gun seemed to have fallen away along with most of the floor. In short? His and Dax's lives now depended entirely on Vin and his miniature army of bots.

Errol caught a glimpse of them and turned with a snarl to fire at them. The bots clustering around him took the opening he gave them and blasted him before he could.

"Go _Vin_." Dax remarked quietly. Jak could only nod in agreement.

Then he paused, eyes narrowing sharply as Errol fumbled under his arm guard and withdrew…

"An eco crystal!" He realised, feeling the prickle of _Dark_ from across the room. Surprise turned to shock when Errol held it up and a purple-black vortex swum into existence above his head - which then began to disgorge creatures that blazed so powerfully with dark eco that it actually _hurt _to sense them. Standing at his side, Daxter _growled_, his fur fluffing even as he hunched down ready to attack.

"Dax?"

"I don't know." Daxter replied shortly. "I just know that I hate 'em, Jak. They're - _wrong_. An' they shouldn't be here. We gotta stop Errol from summoning any more."

It was a good point. Between Errol and the sleek new creatures, Vin's bots were being destroyed faster than the computer-mind could funnel them into the room.

Jak's brow furrowed with determination. The eco crystal was the key. He didn't know how Errol was using it like that, but… take it away? He'd bet the portal would go too. And maybe… he _could_ do something about _that_.

He awkwardly fished in his bag with his left hand, brushing against the dark eco crystals first - which seared his skin on contact and drew the sudden attention of every dark eco creature in the room - before finally managing to secure a grip on one of the light eco crystals. It burned too, at first, before flooding his body with cool-sweet energy until:

White light flared, the dark creatures shying away from it as Light Jak stood. A flicker of concentration was all it took to step away from time and he took advantage of the drastically slowed speed of all his enemies to hobble more than run towards them. Half-way there he had to balance along beams rather than walk on a spider-bot carpet, but eventually he made it to the thick of the battle just as Errol's insane eye-and-optic combo slowly finished turning to look at where he'd once been.

He reached out a glowing blue-white hand and snatched the dark eco crystal, bracing himself for the fight it put up. It flared purple - strengthened by the surrounding dark creatures - but could find no purchase in Jak's dark-depleted body. After a breathless knife-edged battle, it went dormant once more.

His store of Light mostly used up in the battle, Jak managed to stagger away into one of the vents through which Vin's bots were still entering the room before he collapsed - utterly spent.

Time snapped back into play and Errol _howled_ as his source of Dark power was abruptly cut off. The creatures around him screamed as well, furious and making their displeasure known.

Jak just shut his eyes to it all, too beaten down to even try to defend himself should one of them find him now. He couldn't even muster the energy needed to tuck the crystal safely away.

Thankfully, Vin had his back. The bit brain shunted all incoming bots through the vent Jak had hidden in, protecting him through sheer mass and throwing everything he could muster at their weakened enemy. All the while, the portal above Errol and the creatures was shrinking until finally - at the last second before it closed, Errol just jumped straight _up_ and into it, escaping the factory. The last two creatures he'd summoned were swiftly gunned down until, finally, the room was quiet save for the whir of machines and ever-present wind.

Jak, eyes still closed, felt Dax's paws gently tug the crystal away from his hand, then felt it shoved into his bag.

"How're you doin', buddy?" Dax's voice was low, soothing. Jak just wanted to curl up and sleep, content now that Dax was safe and the danger was gone. His hand and chest still ached savagely, but the closer he got to unconsciousness, the less they hurt.

"_Hey there, Jak, don't-! Daxter, you need to get him out of here and to a healer. That burn is, uh. It's not good. Very, very not good. Like, 'start praying', not good."_

"Yeah, I'mna need a hand with that."

There was a tug at his body, then a shove. He fell over, something moving carefully but steadily under him until it felt like he was floating a foot off the floor. He wondered if Dax was carrying him somehow.

"Maybe Samos can-"

"_He's just been clearing the Agri-sector. I don't have eyes down there anymore - do you think he'd have enough strength to-?"_

"I forgot about that. _Damn. _We're gonna have to, though. The only other person I'd trust Jak's life to is all the way out in the desert."

"…_You'd trust him to a Wastelander? Or a monk?"_

"Neither. But I'd trust him to his father."

"Dad…" Jak breathed, a flash of sense memory - _warm/kind/steady _- rousing him slightly.

There was a brief pause, then:

"_Well I guess that's decided it. I'll move the factory closer. By the time we get him to the hellcat, you should be able to just drop down._"

"…Yeah. Thanks, Vinnie. You're a pal."

"Dad…" Jak whispered, and slipped away.

**J&D J&D J&D**

You know, in the first draft of this chapter? Vin died.

But, some people seemed so happy that he was here… I felt like killing him as planned was maybe a kind of douche move. So, see! Your feedback _does_ influence story development! ^-^

In the game, Errol escapes through a dark and hazy warp gate. Jak does too. But we next see Jak strolling into New Haven HQ, so the gate was unlikely to have taken them to the same place (according to my headcanon of how the gates work) and so it was just easier to have Errol make a portal rather than try to explain how he could affect a warp gate and blah blah blah. (Also, I swapped out Errol's light crystal for a dark one, mostly because I never quite got why he had a light one in the first place. He didn't know about the world-weapon I think, and he used dark eco during the battle, so…)

I hope this chapter was enjoyable. If so/if not - lemme know!


	17. Chapter 17

Dear Mr Not-Signed-In.

If you're curious about delays or updates, it might be worth checking my bio instead of asking me through reviews that I can't actually answer. Thanks for contributing to my review count, however! It's much appreciated. :)

General warning for swearing - it's mild to me, but I realise it isn't to some people. It's kinda scary that we're getting so close to the end! Doesn't feel like it, right?

**J&D J&D J&D**

"_Careful with him. Drop him and __**you'll**__ be dropped - in the arena!"_

"_Easy, there, Sig - what is he, your long-lost kid?"_

"_Not mine. The King's. So watch it."_

"_Shit__. I mean, I heard, but. Shit." _

Jak roused as the world stopped swaying. He was lying on something firm and vaguely sensed other presences around him. Samos? Uncle?

Had he hurt himself in the forest again? There was the familiar smell of green growing things paired with sharp antiseptic - Samos' eco cure vs his Uncle's old-fashioned ointment-and-bandages. His chest throbbed, burning and deep. Snakebite? _Again_?

Groaning, he let himself slip away. There'd be time to get lectured later.

_J&D J&D J&D_

"_How is he?"_

"_Like you ain't been getting reports sent straight to you?"_

"_Sig."_

"…_He's awright. Your kid's tough, Damas. He just needs a little break, catch his breath, 'n all."_

"_Catch his breath? His sternum was almost _destroyed_. It's a miracle his heart didn't stop from shock alone."_

"_Damas, you can't listen to them flighty monks. They think gettin' a splinter is cause for a medic. Jak's a Wastelander-"_

"_He's __**my son**__!"_

"…"

"…"

"_Yeah. Yeah, he is. Bin wonderin' when you'd admit it, though. Don't you glare at me! You've been a stubborn ass 'n you know it!"_

"_I named him heir before the court."_

"_I know, I was there, remember? But acknowledging him in public, as Prince and heir, that's one thing. Acknowledging him in your _heart_ - that's another."_

"_Thank you, Dr Sig. Perhaps later we could talk about my childhood."_

"_Hey, at least _I'm_ man enough to talk about this shit. 'N so's Jak. But you gotta start it. 'Cause he's your _kid_, an' always will be no matter how old 'n badass he gets."_

"…_Perhaps."_

The words slipped away from him, unanchored, along with his awareness.

_J&D J&D J&D_

The next time he woke, his head was a little clearer. He knew where he was - and more importantly, _when_.

Opening his eyes revealed an eco burner high above, shedding a warm yellow glow that felt like sunlight on his skin. Beyond that was creamy orange stone.

The caverns, then. Judging by the hot, burning pain radiating from his chest, one of the medical ones.

_What?_

Then he remembered; degrading skin stretched over metal, the stink of eco sizzling through flesh - _his_ flesh -

He jerked up with gasp, the hot pain in his chest _stabbing_ with the movement, something cracking and crumbling deep inside. He let out a sound, low and guttural, but before he could fall back there was already a hand catching his weight and lowering him down.

"Easy, easy. Don't make a liar outta me, Jak. Just relax, before you get me in trouble with your Father."

Recognising the voice of someone he knew, someone he trusted, the remembered _fear_fury_pain _slipped away like a bad dream, leaving only his current agony and the knowledge that he was safe. Sig would watch his back.

"Daxter!" He gasped, asking without really remembering why. He'd… fallen?

"Hmm, not sure how to take that. Don' worry, Chillipepper's fine. _After_ he was pulled off of that prissy monk who don't like you much, he went to go yell at Damas for thinking of trying to invade or destroy your friendly little floating war factory. Then I think he was gonna try and rig a booster to get a message back to Haven - which, for the record, Damas isn't happy about either. Just between you 'n me, those two are gonna have a reckoning one day. There we go, that's better. Just breathe."

Without realising it he'd been lowered back onto his cot and as Sig's low voice rumbled in his ear, the pain subsided until he could think again.

"What happened?" His voice rasped as his mind scrambled for details. There was… sickening height. Nausea. Movement. And not much else.

"Well, I didn't catch all the details, but near as I know you 'n Chilli went to shut down the Baron's old War Factory and wound up recruiting it instead. Damas pitched a fit when it tried to stay nearby, so it's off over the ocean." The older Wastelander paused and Jak turned his head a little, only to find that his friend looked to have gone through a battle of his own. For the first time that he'd seen, Sig was without his armour - although Marie-Ellen was set beside the cot he had abandoned to help Jak. In its place were a hell of a lot of bandages.

"What happened?" He demanded, entirely distracted from his prior concern. Had there been another attack? How long had he been unconscious? What could have landed _Sig_ of all people in medical?

A flicker of the Dark Eco _creatures_ that Errol had summoned flashed through his mind. Had there been more? A full-scale invasion?

Sig just lifted his hand in dismissal.

"Just a little housekeeping. Which reminds me." With barely a grimace, he got to his feet and returned to his cot, rummaging in a small bag to pull out-

Jak's entire being _throbbed_, hurtful and healing all at once.

-a light Eco crystal. The last of the set of three.

"Don't say I never gave you nothin'." The big man grunted, crossing back to drop the hunk of crystal into Jak's waiting hand.

"Sig.." Jak breathed, comforted and confused and grateful. "Thank you. Where did you find it?"

"Group'a Metal Heads were squirrelling it away, Precursors only know why. A whole bunch of 'em decided to nest nearby and whilst I was clear'n em out, I found this." He nodded at it. "I got no use for it, 'cept as to help keep a certain blonde I know from causin' too much trouble."

Jak quirked a ghost of a grin.

"Thanks, Sig." Slowly, stiffly and painfully, he tucked it away. "How long have I been out? How long till..?"

"Day and a half." Sig shrugged. "An' you can get out when you can physically manage it, I suppose. No idea how long _that'll_ be. The monks were all convinced you were a dead man still breathin'. I think I saw one of 'em _cryin_'. Then again, another one looked ready to help you on your way to Paradise."

Jak returned his gaze to the eco burner. "He's nothing." He said flatly, knowing exactly who Sig was talking about. Other monks probably had issues with him due to his… _infection_, but only Aiden had mouthed off about it to his face. "A jackass."

Sig paused.

"This wouldn't be the same 'jackass' who tried to kill you, would it?" His tone was deceptively light, his words slow and deliberate. Jak blinked, weary mind taking a moment to understand.

Oh. Right. He'd never actually told Sig that the guy who'd cured him whilst trying to kill him had been a citizen of Spargus, let alone a _monk_. Sig must have assumed it was an outsider, and wasn't happy to have assumed wrong.

"It's not-." He closed his eyes. "I don't know if it was deliberate." He conceded. "He-I think he took me from the palace without permission. I remember Seem said he was worried about Damas' reaction."

"He took you. When you were out cold?" Sig asked sharply. "Why?"

"To open a light eco vent in the catacombs." Jak tried to breathe more shallowly. Every word had the ache in his chest building higher. "It was… locked. Light and… dark eco. Needed. The monks couldn't do it… 'lone."

"So he took a half-dead kid under the King's personal watch? Smart."

Jak's lips twitched at the depth of sarcasm. Vaguely, he realised his eyes had closed at some point. His body was shutting down, exhausted already. Sig's voice went quiet again.

"Yeah, awright. You get your beauty sleep, then. I got your six."

Something deep inside him unwound a little, and Jak slept.

_J&D J&D J&D_

The King of Spargus sat on his throne and tried to remember his dusty diplomacy training. He'd been raised to negotiate with Lords and Ladies, not fearlessly abrasive rodents or anxiously sentient machines.

"You are, literally, a_ floating war __**factory**_." Damas ground out. "I'm sure you must realise how nervous that might make people. You say you do not belong to House Praxis, yet you also refuse to ally with Spargus. You know of our existence now, a closely guarded secret, and represent a threat both within your own capabilities and in regard to whomever you might tell of us."

He paused.

"You brought my son home." He allowed. "I _am_ grateful. But I'm also the leader of a people to whom your colours mean war, even with the Praxis himself dead. I'm sure you can see the problem."

The voice hummed. It didn't, Damas thought, sound like what he'd expect from a sentient war factory. Smart, sure, but neurotic wouldn't have been _his_ first choice for a bit brain of such import.

"_Well, I suppose Ashelin is the Governor of Haven and I'm - well, I was. Am? - technically a citizen of Haven. But, uh, I'm getting that you don't like her family much, and I don't wanna be 'that guy' who started another war. Um. Let think about that for a second."_

Daxter, sitting on the arm of Damas' throne and holding the communicator the two of them were using to talk to the war factory, glared at him.

"_What_ problem?" He demanded. "Vin's a pal. He didn't have to help Jak, which alone says all we need to know. You should be glad that a guy like him is the one holding the button on that factory, 'n not some creep like Veger or Errol."

Before Damas could reply, the bit brain cut in again.

"_Wait, you said Jak is your __**son**__, right? Are you tellin' me the rumour is __**true**__?"_

"What rumour?" Daxter demanded, transferring his scowl from Damas to the communicator.

"_That, uh, Jak is heir to the throne?" _The bit brain sounded almost meek. Daxter's jaw set.

"I swear, I am gonna bend that kid's ears back…" The ottsel muttered to himself.

"It's true." Damas spoke over him. "Jak is Mar, my only son. He was… sent back in time by the Green Sage, to keep him safe. A couple of years ago, according to my sources, he came forward once more. The Sage, Samos, never told him of his heritage. I wouldn't have believed it myself except that all blood-resonant heirlooms of the House of Mar react to him. It is beyond contestation. Jak is my son."

The ottsel stared up at him, oddly blank for such an expressive creature. The bit brain just buzzed with excitement.

"_Oh, well then, that makes it easier! You can sign me up on Jak's side. I didn't want to get involved in the trouble back home but if Jak really __**is**__ the rightful ruler… And besides, he's a nice guy."_

Damas blinked. Were they talking about the same Jak?

The voice, seeming to misread his silence, hurried to clarify.

"_Oh, I know you're sort of the, uh, exiled King and all. Um, your majesty. And, sort of, the __**real **__rightful ruler. It's just, nobody knew where you were or if you were alive, but the Underground had the cute little Prince they were gonna put on the throne, except Lady Praxis kind of just took over afterwards and Jak didn't seem to care and… anyway. What I'm trying to say is, I know you're really the more rightful ruler than Jak, but you... kind of seem… like an angry man. No offence."_

Daxter jumped impetuously up onto his shoulder. "Compared to Jak?" He asked the comm incredulously, at volume, right into Damas ear.

Damas glared at him. Daxter didn't notice.

"_Well, uh.."_ The comm went silent, then; _"I guess he is. But. He's… never been angry at __**me**__."_

It was the rodent's turn to blink, and he followed it up by sitting heavily on Damas' shoulder. Damas considered shoving him off before remembering that, like it or not, this was his son's _best friend_. He gritted his teeth and bore it.

"_Torn used to yell at me."_ The comm continued quietly. And, really? What kind of idiot yelled at sentient war factories?

"_He'd say mean things sometimes too. And, I mean, I understood! He was busy, had a stressful job tryin' to keep people alive and overthrow the Baron and all… And I was never… the bravest of people."_

"_That_ ain't true." Daxter interjected fiercely. "People who're scared? Who're scared and still help as much as _you_ did? They're the bravest of all."

He glanced up at Damas. "Right?" He demanded, fully expecting the King of Spargus to back him up.

Damas sighed. Precursors help him, but he actually agreed with the animal.

"Right." He assented. "Though I'm not sure what this has to do with anything." He grumbled quietly.

"_My point is, I helped Torn whenever I could because the Baron was destroying Haven - and Torn had the kid. Even though the __**real**__ ruler would be Torn or someone else until the kid was old enough, I _believed_ that the Line of Mar was worth fighting for. That, one day, the kid would grow up to be the ruler we all hoped for, and that was worth risking my life for a man who only tolerated me because of what I could do for the Underground. But… if that kid is Jak, then I don't have to wait any more. I don't __**want**__ to wait. I like Jak and, if he asked, I'd swear fealty for sure."_

There was a short, shared, stunned silence inside the throne room.

"…Right!" Daxter clapped his hands together, as Damas wrapped his head around the reality that his son apparently commanded the loyalty of a sentient war factory. _What Spargus could do with such a resource…_

"Good talk, everyone!" Daxter babbled on. "Glad to see where everyone stands. Yay, Jak! I'm sure he won't feel pressured _at all _by all this_. Now that we're all friends, _Vin I need you to bounce a signal to the Port. You can do that now, right?"

As he spoke, the ottsel jumped to the floor - communicator gripped firmly in his paws - and made a beeline for the elevator. Whatever else he had to say, he obviously didn't want Damas to be part of it. Or, perhaps, he was taking the communicator to Jak.

"_Oh, sure, just a little re-programming - a snap, really. Who were you chasing?"_

The elevator rattled down, carrying the two voices away. Damas slumped deeper into his throne and let his gaze unfocus as he rearranged plans of attack, of defence. This... This could change everything.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Almost a week later and Jak was ready to climb the walls. The monks couldn't believe his progress. Despite the green eco they fed him causing him to break out in painful rashes and the occasional open sore, he nevertheless exhibited an almost unprecedented ability to absorb it.

Only the Sage of green eco, one monk shared with him, had ever taken so much on in so little time - and that was _after_ enough long-term exposure to tint his skin permanently green. The fact that green eco had been traditionally use to heal areas damaged by dark eco made it even more unlikely that Jak could be so helped, what with his Dark never far away.

Eventually, the monks - completely independent of Jak - had come to the conclusion that his talent for eco channelling hadn't been burnt out of him after all, as they had erroneously assumed when they first found out that the dark eco warrior they'd once treated was also the lost prince, Mar. They'd also determined that his low dark saturation was partly to thank and had dosed him up with regular bursts of light, to keep his dark stifled.

Still, despite all that, it had taken most of the week before Jak could even stand up without pain. His sternum had knitted back together slowly, his muscles and flesh even slower. Infection had threatened and been defeated. Consciousness had been filled with Daxter's chatter, careful monks and always, lurking in the background, the solidly reassuring figure of Sig.

With Vin's help, Daxter had been able to make direct contact with the Port. Things were good - and bad. The Agri-sector was progressing well, Samos' eco not only purifying the soil but helping the new plants root and thrive. The fungal project was making a narrow portion of people _very_ happy, something about ambient pollution filters and short-term cash crops, hopefully not one and the same. Aconite had stretched their volunteers along the Agri-sector wall to help prevent re-infestation, something more easily managed now that Tess had finished some sort of low-energy curtain that acted like a blockade barrier but was laid down and generated in strips, providing at last some form of reliable rooftop protection from the scuttling, burrowing satellite bugs remaining in the city.

Unfortunately, the curtain hadn't gone up in time to prevent two more deaths to the creatures. Aconite had taken responsibility for one of her men shooting the two who'd been 'infested' - a mercy, she asserted firmly, but which had caused a minor backlash against the official guard presence. There was, Keira had reported warily, a sense of 'Mr Jak wouldn't have done that' or 'Mr Jak wouldn't have let that happen' which led to even _more_ questions on where exactly he _was_. This time Daxter wasn't around to be his representative - and, maybe more importantly, to be the distracting and cheering person he was - so the general mood had turned a little suspicious and wary. People knew that Tess, Keira, Bo & Flo, Aconite and a host of other civilians were his deputies in specific areas of control but… they _wanted_ Jak.

Also worrying was a warning from Ashelin, that Veger was pressing ever harder in his attacks upon them both and if he _did_ have a hand in anything beyond dirty politics, he wasn't likely to stop any time soon. She'd been glad for the confirmation that the War Factory was no longer churning out enemies but had _not_ been happy that it was still technically operational - until she learned about Vin's role in it all.

She'd instructed Jak to tell Vin to return and support the Freedom League troops with bots. Vin, listening in on their conversation, had refused. There'd been a short moment where everyone involved knew precisely who held the balance of power, and it was only the personal connection between Jak and Ashelin that had allowed the moment to pass, each knowing that the other _wasn't_ the enemy.

Not yet.

Of good, and bad, news was that all remaining bots in Haven had pulled back to the Stadium district. The reduced number of enemies had led to her sending out short raiding parties, aimed at eliminating as many Metal Heads in the Slums, Industrial zone and Bazaar as possible before retreating back into New Haven. The problem was that the Metal Heads _kept coming_, although they at least didn't seem to be nesting. Unfortunately, one of her troops reported seeing the bigger ones come from the main sewer entrance in the Industrial zone, which meant the protective turrets down there must have been overcome.

Daxter and Jak had shared a guilty look at that, but not volunteered themselves as the culprit. Jak wondered, though. Had that been the real reason Krew had sent them to destroy the sewer's turrets? Not to clear a smuggling route, but the path for an invasion the gang lord had planned all along…?

Still, Ashelin's efforts to thin the Metal Head population was a good thing. Surveillance flights over the Stadium district, however, had revealed another big problem.

There were still people trapped in there. Some had climbed up onto the rooftops to wave at FL patrols, but landing to pick them up was impossible with the KG Death Bots and sniper canons watching the skies. Hard and fast flying was the only way to evade the ground-to-air defence system, but that sort of flying didn't lend well to rescue attempts. Ashelin had tried to send in an attack run to clear the way, committing most of her air forces to laying down suppressive fire and escorting the transport vehicles but the Death Bots were machines, not people or even Metal Heads. They didn't feel fear, or pain. One had to be destroyed before it would stop firing but if Ashelin could manage to destroy them _all_, there wouldn't be a problem in the first place. There were just _too many_ bots, they'd been the backbone of the KG, churned out faster than any flesh soldier.

And they all ran on closed networks. Even Vin couldn't contact them for a shutdown command. Whatever - or whoever's - orders they were following, they were coordinated and reacted with lightning speed. What one knew, all knew. Their targeting algorithms were top notch and they'd been _built_ with precise knowledge of the machines being flown against them - they'd had to, in order to account for them in battle once upon a time.

The Metal Heads and KG bots were no longer working _together_, but there were still two separate enemy forces in Haven and they wouldn't stay idle for long.

The question was, what could they do about it? Jak himself felt about as tough as a wet tissue, the wound at his core sapping his strength despite his unnatural recovery speed. Torn and Ashelin were putting their heads together but Ashelin had strongly implied that lives would be lost so long as Vin failed to step up and do his duty.

Daxter had remarked, acidly, that Ashelin's original plan had been to disable the factory entirely and therefore any fallout of not having an automatic bot army fell on _her _shoulders and no-one else's. Torn had leapt to her defence and the two had an increasingly vicious fight until Vin - still boosting the signal to Haven - cut it firmly.

He wanted to help, he'd fretted on the now-private line. He just didn't want to be a _war machine_.

Jak couldn't help but understand. He promised Vin that anyone wanting the bit brain to fight for them would have to go through himself first.

Which was, as Daxter pointed out later, comm packed away and Jak getting gingerly to his feet for another careful walk around the cavern, a nice but incredibly impractical sentiment.

"In case you haven't noticed?" Dax couldn't help but snark, even as he kept a watchful eye on Jak's stiff movements. "We're kinda in a war, buddy. We sure could use Vin's help."

"You _just spent_ five minutes ripping into Torn and Ashelin for wanting to use him." Jak gritted, leaning heavily against the wall as he slowly straightened, pausing and waiting for each flare of pain to die down. "Now you're scolding me for _not_?"

He made it fully to his feet and Daxter settled back, no longer poised to holler for help.

"_They_ wanted to order him around." Dax grumbled. "Like he ain't a person any more. But seeing as he joined Camp Jak earlier this week, I figured he'd help out if _you_ asked. But... You didn't. You didn't even _try_."

Jak sighed, shallow in deference to his wound, but no less heartfelt for it.

"Because I know what it's like, Dax." He said quietly. "To be seen as a weapon first and a person second - even by friends. I'll never do that to anyone else. _Never_."

Daxter glanced at him, a world of comprehension - of agreement - in his eyes.

"Whatever." He shrugged, grinned, and scampered ahead.

The two of them managed to make it outside, where a familiar form leant against the wall, soaking up the sun.

"Sig." Jak greeted, hoping his legs weren't visibly shaking. Sig cracked open his one non-mechanical eye and nodded.

"Cherries. Got tired of the pamperin', huh?"

"Yeah." Jak replied flatly, remembering briskly impersonal applications of stinging poultices and the occasional debriding. "There's only so much cactus soup even a prince can take." He kind of blinked at himself the second he finished speaking. He'd never thought of himself as… and never spoken of himself as…

He felt his neck heat and steadily avoided looking at either Dax or Sig. Fortunately a red, yellow and blue distraction flapped in with perfect timing.

"Jak! _There_ you are!"

Jak looked up just in time to catch a face full of feathers. The small weight and impact was almost enough to knock him on his ass, only the rapid snatch of Sig's hand keeping him upright.

"_**Pecker**_!" Daxter screeched. "You mothballed pillow-stuffer! Watch where you're flappin'!"

Jak lifted his arms, cradling the panting moncaw who was too exhausted to have anything sharp to say in return.

"..hhh….flap your… mother… hhh"

Or not.

"Pecker, did you fly all the way here from Haven city?" He asked. Pecker twitched a feather and glared at him.

"It'd explain his exhaustion." Sig offered, one hand ready on his gun, his expression hard. "That's no small distance."

"I think Pecker's just out of shape." Daxter dismissed. "Probably hasn't flapped any further than his food bowl since he hatched."

Pecker twitched a ruder feather at Daxter.

"Flew through… the night…" the moncaw panted. "And… hhh… day. No rest. No water. So tired."

"They have this thing called communicators." Daxter snarked in the background. Pecker ignored him this time, lying back in Jak's arms for all the world like he was about to go to sleep.

"I had to come." The animal managed. "Onin's… hhh… orders. She needed… hhhh… hhh… eyes. She says… fate of the world is… changing. Everything… hhh. Is dark. Except for you, Jak. She can't… come herself. So I will help… in her stead…"

The last few words were mumbled as Pecker passed out in his arms. There was a moment of silence.

"Some help." Daxter crossed his arms. "I say we dump him."

Sig hesitated.

"Technically, there ain't no laws against bringing animals into Spargus." He cautioned them. "But with the amount of talkin', sentient ones you're collectin'… that might just change."

Jak glanced up, understanding his meaning. Then paused. His back stiffened.

"_I_ was brought into Spargus." He stated lightly, a question and a challenge. The ugly part of him assumed the worst, whispered _monster_ and _not human_, but it was beaten back almost immediately by Sig's shifty, sheepish expression.

"Sig?"

The big man sighed explosively.

"Yeah, I broke the law to bring you back. Kinda. What with you bein' _Mar_ and all, I technically didn't. That's why we both didn't end up in the arena. But… well, lets just say that the 'technically' bit means I maybe did a mission I wouldn't normally have to and leave it at that."

Jak was no fool.

"That's why you were in the infirmary, injured." He guessed, anger rising. "It was a suicide mission?"

Sig shook his head immediately. "Don't go gettin' yourself upset, it ain't healthy. And suicide is a _strong_ word. I prefer… badass." His expression firmed before Jak could argue.

"Now listen. I've been wantin' to talk to you about this for a while. That monk, who's been harassing you - his name's Aiden?"

Mute, Jak nodded. Sig nodded grimly back.

"I did some checking, and it looks like he covered himself pretty well for your abduction." Daxter's head snapped around, eyes wide. "But I don't like what I've been hearing from him - and about him - so I just wanted to make it _very_ clear to you - as I did to him - that if anyone, _anyone_, lays a hand on you to harm? They're declaring war on Spargus."

Jak wavered in shock. Sig snorted at him, as though he were an idiot for being so surprised.

"That's the deal, when you're royalty. You represent the people you lead - and therefore are held to higher standards - but in representing them, when _you're_ attacked? Spargus is attacked."

Then, just as Jak was getting a handle on that notion, Sig sprung another.

"Which means, an' don't shoot the messenger, you can probably expect a little posse following you around for a while."

Jak blinked uncomprehendingly.

"Protection." Sig clarified, somewhat sheepishly considering his first hand experience with just how lethal Jak could be, but a glance down at Jak's almost fatal wound had him firming. "For you. Bodyguards."

'Incredulous' didn't begin to cover Jak's expression then.

"You scared a few years off of Damas' life." The older Wastelander explained, almost gently. "He was _here_ when you were carried in, and you - you _looked_ dead. There was so much blood on the floor it seemed impossible that you had any left to bleed. The monks were freaking out and Daxter was screeching over the top of them… Then your father had to leave it all, because reports were coming in that Baron Praxis' freakin' _War Factory_ was just outside the city, obviously sent to begin an invasion, and he had to leave _you_, his _son_ who he'd only just found and was getting used to the idea of _not_ being five years old, and who was very probably dying."

Jak swallowed tightly. Sig just nodded, glancing away.

"So, yeah. Bodyguards. At least until the current crisis is dealt with, but maybe don't give him too hard a time about it, yeah? He's the King and you're the Prince, but the order's _coming_ from an anxious Father."

Jak let his breath out in a sigh and just nodded, overwhelmed and exhausted and willing to just forget about it all for now.

"Go back to bed." Sig bossed him gruffly, taking Pecker's limp body from his arms. "Rest. Ain't nobody gonna respect you if you faint out here."

Jak glared tokenly for the remark, but in truth was glad to head back in. He was psychically and emotionally exhausted, but there was no way Dax would let him sleep until he got the 'abduction' story in full.

Maybe he'd wake with a solution to the epic mess they were all mired in.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Less then a day later, Pecker made it in to see him revived, the moncaw was a bit clearer about his reason for making the dangerously long flight from Haven to Spargus.

"Onin wants you to go to the monk's private temple." He explained, snacking on grapes he'd managed to scrounge up. They were peeled. Daxter eyed them enviously. "She can't go there anymore herself - but you can. Something about light and mastery and I maybe stopped paying attention at that point." He snapped sharply at Dax's filching fingers.

"Where is it?" Jak asked. He was sitting up with his pillow wedged between himself and the wall. He had already planned to escape this place and head to his assigned room in the barracks. If the monk's temple didn't require blasting over sand dunes and fighting Marauders, he was up for it.

"Somewhere deep within the catacombs." Pecker answered mysteriously. "Don't worry, all birds have an exceptional sense of direction. I can find it once we're in there."

"Oh yeah." Daxter grumbled, nursing his fingers. "Lets trust our lives to a _birdbrain_ who hangs by his tail to sleep. _That _can't go wrong."

Pecker swiped at him. Daxter parried the blow and kicked back. Jak yanked the two of them apart.

"Why can't Onin go?" He asked, after which Daxter swatted his ear.

"She's old, Jak, _geeze_! I'm pretty sure those crusty old bones of hers are frozen in that cross-legged position."

Pecker considered, then nodded. "You know, I _have_ never seen her stand up. It's entirely possible those brittle little sticks would snap like straw if she tried." The moncaw continued to look considering, as though working out how he might actually test his hypothesis. Jak rubbed his forehead.

"Right. Okay. I know there's an entrance to the catacombs just outside the shield wall. We can get in there. You're _sure_ we won't get in trouble with the monks for it?" He addressed the last to Pecker, who drew himself up indignantly.

"Yeah, okay." Jak cut him off before he could speak. "Let's go."

_J&D J&D J&D_

Maybe Pecker had been telling the truth or maybe they were just lucky, but it hadn't taken more than twenty minutes of slow, careful walking before the narrow tunnels suddenly widened into an obviously man-made cave. Stone and wood beams supported the ceiling which was unusually high - most likely to fit the long slabs of stone which - based on their white colour - were obviously _not_ native to the room and which had been fixed into sculpted metal frames. Eco burners of all types shed coloured light into the images carved onto the slabs.

"They're murals." Jak realised, as Pecker flew curiously over to perch on top of one.

"Oh, goody." Dax muttered, veering off immediately to go kick at a pile of dirt.

Neither of them were art enthusiasts. The one time they'd been inside a museum, they'd _broken_ in to find a rare and supposedly powerful precursor artifact. They'd had to follow an old tour guide who shuffled half as slow as he mumbled, keeping to the shadows as the man lead an equally unenthused group through the skimpy, over-hyped selection.

The museum had had a hall of murals too, which had been slightly more interesting that the old geezer, but not by much.

Whilst waiting for him to continue on, Jak had managed a few seconds entertainment trying to work out the story they told, though he only knew the old Sandover legends and his attention span meant that if he didn't get it in five seconds, he got bored and stopped trying.

Dax, though... Dax had seemed to have an attention span that was magnetically _opposed_ to the things. His gaze skittered over them like stones over ice. When Jak had once asked him to focus on whether a carving seemed to be pointing at a particular artifact (maybe the one they were there for?) or not, Daxter had obligingly screwed up his face and stared. His expression of pained disinterest had gotten so intense, so quickly, Jak had immediately promised to never make him look at anything like it ever again.

(Incidentally, once they'd found the artifact, stolen it, set off the alarms, evaded capture, survived a high-speed chase and made it back to the Underground, it turned out to be nothing more than a junk replica. And Keira wondered why he never wanted to go 'get some culture' with her.)

All of that mean Jak was unsurprised that Dax found a pile of dirt more interesting than a mile of carefully-tended stone storytelling and he was half-thinking of taking a short breather himself when he saw...

_He saw..._

_A storm, greater than anything he could remember. Himself, alone, in his new-Uncle's house, too-cold and a little bit scared and a lot lonely._

He blinked and traced the carved stone storm with his eyes, letting the memory fall back a little. He didn't remember much of his childhood and he didn't know how much of that he could blame on trauma and how much was just about getting older. Sometimes, though, certain things triggered memories he hadn't realised he'd lost. Mostly they revolved around Daxter, although Samos and Keira had both triggered one or two. Damas seemed to generate a general state of familiarity over any coherent memory.

The storm was right at the beginning of the obscenely long stone 'story'. On the far left, so close to the edge that the image was difficult to make out, there seemed to be some sort of city or large dwelling. Maybe a castle? The clouds, thick and messy with stark lines of lightning punching out of them, reached down to the ocean which heaved and swelled towards the sky.

And in the ocean, as powerless as any flotsam, a ship.

"Hey, Dax, look..." He called, not quite understanding why _this_ mural, this _storm_, tugged at his mind. "Do you remember..."

He trailed off, not sure what he was asking. Did Dax remember that time there was a big storm? There had been a hell of a lot of them, over the years. And Jak couldn't shake the thought that no, actually, Dax _wouldn't remember this one_.

He tried to focus on the slip of memory lost inside his mind. Had there been a frightened little boy next to him, cracking wise and squeaking at every flash of light?

No. No... he'd been _alone._

_Alone. He wished his uncle was there. His __**real**__ uncle. He couldn't remember his face, but he remembered he was big and used to make him laugh and he always gave him treats to eat and-and..._

_and he couldn't remember if that was true or if he just wished it was. His new-uncle was nice, but he wasn't around much. Right now his uncle was deep in the jungle and Jak was alone in a house without a fire and too many drafts and a roof that seemed like it would get torn off any second._

_And... was that a_

"Boat?"

He blinked back to awareness, fingertips resting on the simply-carved symbol. One boat, a single mast, completely at the mercy of the storm. There'd been a boat, he was sure of it. That night, in the storm. He'd curled up at the window, daring himself and showing the storm that he wasn't afraid (even if he really kinda was).

And he'd seen a ship. He'd thought it was a ghost ship. It had almost scared him into a wet pair of pants.

Lit only by the glow of fire inside it, the ship had vanished and reappeared in a ghostly way - or, as Jak understood with an adult's mind - had been hidden and revealed by various swells and dips in the ocean.

He followed the mural as it etched the storm further until it showed something that looked suspiciously like...

"Dax, seriously - you gotta see this. Is that-?"

"Sandover?" Daxter's incredulity matched his own, the ottsel absently leaping up to his shoulder to for the first time since his injury. Jak barely winced under the sudden weight. This was just too strange.

Because, yes. Their village of 500 years ago was etched clean and plain on a slab of stone, 500 years later. Faster now, Jak followed the mural. The image stretched, as murals do, into a slap of ocean against a cliff and Jak remembered how-

-_the ocean was higher than he'd ever seen it. Too high to get to Samos' hut, even if he'd been crazy enough to brave the toothpick of stone it stood on. He'd gone to the beach, because Samos always said that the precursors were important, were gods, and should be heeded but now he was here and the beach was just __**gone**__, swallowed by angry waves which smashed and roared and tried to drag the ruins on the uneven cliffs into itself. _

The beach had looked _just like that_, the similarity was downright unnerving. And there, on the edge of it… were two figures.

"Daxter." Jak breathed. "This is…"

_A kid his age, bright red hair easy to see in the weak light, pale and skinny arms wrapped desperately around a protruding tree root. The water was higher here and every wave pushed the kid underwater, every retreat threatened to drag him back out. _

"This is _us_. Do you remember? I can't believe I ever _forgot_, I mean… Oh my _god_."

Daxter stared at it for a moment, shoulders hunched.  
"Makes sense." Dax turned away, dropping down to ground level as he feigned disinterest. "These monks are crazy. I bet we find a statue of you too, hopefully during that awkward thirteen-year-old phase when you wouldn't stop-"

"No, Dax, _look_." Jak insisted. He pointed at the boy half in the water - Daxter - carved so finely that the strands of hair clinging to his terrified face could be seen. Then he pointed at the other boy - himself - who could be assumed to be a child only because his body was roughly the same size as Daxter's. Whose gender was uncertain and whose clothes were more of a suggestion than a reality.

Who had no face, no identification at all save a single, unrecognised symbol, etched deeply into its core.

"Only the foci of historical murals ever have faces." Jak said. "I remember the old guy in the museum saying that. Everyone else - they're included if they're key figures, sometimes symbolically represented, but only the _focus_ of the story gets a face - an identity."

He stepped back and looked down.

"Daxter. This story, this whole-" he waved a hand at the massive stone mural, obviously carved to last and which continued quite a bit longer "-thing. Story. It's about _you_."

Daxter blinked up at him, at the mural, obviously, painfully vulnerable. For all his big talk, he'd never been the focus of much more than contempt or amusement. He was Jak's best friend, the sidekick, the mascot, the _ottsel_. He wasn't important, except in how he was important to _Jak_.

But these murals… they seemed to say otherwise.

"It's true." Pecker piped up, somewhat subdued. Maybe he recognised that Dax wasn't ready for another round of fighting. "Onin used to draw what she _saw_, before she lost her physical sight. She told me once that other monks would take what she drew and turn them into carvings, so that all could benefit."

Jak blinked.

"Other monks?"

Pecker looked at him pityingly.

"Yes, Jak. _Other monks_. Because Onin used to be one. You're following me, yes?"

Jak rolled his eyes and turned his attention back to Daxter, who was padding silently along the wall of stone - following, from what Jak could see from here, his own life story.

It ended when Daxter fell into the vat of dark eco. As though his life had ended there.

"What does it mean?" He wondered aloud. Pecker flapped a bit closer and made a wary sort of sound.

"I don't know, and I'm thinking the monks weren't so sure either. The opposite wall is full of theories. And I mean _full_."

Jak turned and looked. He couldn't read any of it, it was all either in code or some sort of monk dialect.

"Jak." Pecker lowered his voice. "These carvings are… old. Very old. Some of them say the same vision was had by different monks, over _generations_. They don't understand why, but they believe it's important - that it's a message from the Precursors. They argue about the meaning, but… is this truly your story?"

Jak turned back.

"Not mine." He repeated firmly. "Daxter's. And it _didn't_ end there. So why did the vision?"

Pecker flapped closer still, coming to rest on Jak's shoulder.

"Maybe." The bird said so quietly that even Jak could barely hear him. "It was supposed to."

Jak's entire body went cold. Pecker wasn't finished.

"Better hope _they_ never find out. In case they think they keep seeing it in order to make it true."

Jak's eyes pulled automatically, magnetically, to Daxter. His species was unknown. They'd had to make up a name for it. It was a miracle he'd survived, but Samos often ragged him about his new, _unnatural_ form…

No. **No**. If anyone thought they could rewrite history to end Daxter's story…

Jak would end _**theirs**_.

**J&D J&D J&D**

As people who read the outtakes might have noticed, Jak's memory of the event wherein he met Daxter is slightly distorted.

Question for readers: Any views on who Jak's bodyguard(s) should be?

Thanks for the feedback on my problem with skipping from 400-500 years :D I picked 500 and my copy of this story reflects that. When it's finished, I'll go through at some point and replace chapters until all the little errors are fixed.


	18. Chapter 18

Thanks to _Yami Dragoness of Dark_ for unwittingly helping me through a block! _DarkEcoFreak_, not you I dont think! :) Just someone asking if I was dead, what the delay was etc - which I'd be happy to answer except for the inability with a non-logged-in person. Although, may I suggest grabbing yourself an account? Simply for keeping track of your fics and alerts, it's worth the short sign-up!

Since some people seem to have missed earlier notes, you can click on the link in my bio to see what's taking me so long, as well as read outtakes, previews and scrappy junk.

As a general note, I'm treating each of the cities as city-states, like in Ancient Greece. A shorter chapter this week because… well, how could it _not_ end there I ask you?

_J&D J&D J&D_

Despite the grand entry-way, the monk's private temple (monastery?) was kind of… plain.

Underground along with everything else, the entrance opened into a massive hall at the far end of which was a familiar Precursor statue - an Oracle, larger and more complex than the one which once resided in the Water Slums. Similar to it, however, was the carpet of candles casting light and warmth that surrounded it. Bowls as large as his torso were set in curling patterns, some burning incense, most others growing plants, holding eco or containing water. Still more bowls hung from the ceiling, though those were almost all trailing thick succulents or flowers.

After a moment he realised that the curling layout followed carvings in the floor which seemed designed to provide private little places for group or individual meditation despite everyone all being within the one large room.

Several monks were meditating right now, kneeling or sitting in absolute tranquillity. Not all of them had the painted faces he'd assumed were common to all monks.

Lining all four walls was a rough stone trench, through which water rushed with the force of a mountain stream. It and the large room created an echoing whispering sound, intermittently broken with distant deep tones and light chimes from elsewhere in the complex.

It was peaceful.

And yet… kind of maddening. He shook his head sharply, shedding the light daze he'd settled into and glanced down at Daxter, then up at Pecker. Both nodded at him, ready to continue, taking his silent cue to be _quiet_.

Pecker could posture all he liked. Jak had the distinct feeling that Seem, at least, would not be happy to find him there. Pecker had said _Onin_ said he needed to be here - but neither knew _why_. So, carefully, quietly, he snuck in.

Stealth became somewhat impossible when the second his boot touched the engravings on the floor, they began to _glow_.

Not just the area directly beneath him, either. Spilling away from him, in whirls and loops of light, the engravings _hummed_, drawing the rapt attention of every monk in the cavernous room.

Jak froze.

Luckily, the monks didn't seem _angry_. The expressions on their faces ranged from puzzled to awed. One slipped away through a side door but the rest just stood and stared. Some stared at _him_, others at the glowing floor and still more turned to the Oracle at the end of the hall as though waiting for it to do something.

A wing pushed insistently against the back of his head.

"_Keep going, stupid._" Pecker hissed.

He did. Cautiously, as respectfully as he possibly could, he continued in. The glow followed him, always brighter directly under his feet, fading away before it could reach all edges of the room. As he passed a gaggle of unpainted monks, they bowed. Two painted monks made hand gestures at him, curling their spines a little despite themselves.

None spoke.

"Your Highness."

Jak started at the familiar voice. To his right, following in the monk who'd slipped out before, was Seem. Her expression was inscrutable, though a certain set to her shoulders suggested tension. Jak felt a sudden twinge of awkwardness. He hadn't considered his trespass in light of his position. Had it just been himself and he got caught - well, he'd weather the consequences. But as Prince of Spargus… whatever punishment was usual for intruders, Seem was now faced with upholding it for some idiot who happened to be son of the monk's theoretical ruler.

"Seem." He answered, shifting his weight and trying to look as apologetic as he suddenly felt.

Pecker abruptly launched himself to the floor before Seem, bowing flamboyantly.

"Honourable Seem. My companion has been sent to fulfil a prophecy of the Exiled One. He begs your forgiveness but as you can see-" the moncaw gestured at the light still curling lazily through the carvings under Jak's feet "-he is an adept. And any adept-"

Seem held up her hand. Pecker's jaw shut with a sharp click.

"Any adept is welcome within the Monastery." Seem said, with an air of rote. Her expression remained almost closed off, though her shoulders eased a tad. Wine-red eyes slid to Jak's.

"Step forward, adept, and be judged." One white hand waved towards the statue at the end of the hall, monks backing away to make room even as more flowed in from hidden entrances. A sea of faces, more monks than he'd had any idea existed, watched silently.

Jak glanced around, feeling Daxter press against the back of his leg - watching his six. Pecker flapped back up to his shoulder and huddled in close to hiss in his ear.

"Keep the Dark under wraps, my friend. This Oracle, unlike the one in the city, will _not_ reward it."

Warning given, he dropped off to herd Daxter away which quickly devolved into a furiously quiet wrestling match.

Jak took a deep breath and walked forward. This was nothing he hadn't done before, except for all the observers…

A circular carving directly before the statue didn't light up until Jak stepped upon it. For a split second the white light was tinged with blue, green, red and yellow. For a painfully long moment it flared deep purple. In the end, though, it steadied at the blue-white of light eco.

The oracle's eyes cracked open.

"_**Greetings, great warrior. The time of trial draws near and you are almost ready to face it. We grant you another Light Power, that you may be ready to defend your world."**_

The eyes opened wider and a light from above shot down, lifting Jak into the air even as it pulled _hard_ at his body, forcing a change into his Light form. Jak barely heard what might have been a gasp from hundreds of people, too caught up in the thrum of energy. Whereas green healed, light _scoured_. It was cleansing, in a brutal remaking sort of way. He felt it snaking through him, adjusting his very being the same way the Baron's 'treatments' had, albeit a thousand times more efficiently. As in the temple, the remaking took only seconds and his feet touched down with a flash of light that near-blinded all present.

In the aftermath, Light Jak stood serenely and the temple sang around him, every carved surface - floor, walls, ceiling - lit up with the energy that flowed from him.

"_**Regenerate, Hero, and continue forward. We are watching."**_

The oracle's eyes closed. Jak mimicked it for a moment, searching for the difference.

…there.

A surge of power lifted him off his feet once more as blue-white energy spiralled down to envelop him. For a moment he was simply a beacon of indistinguishable light hanging in the air…

Then he dropped down, the light scattered and he was whole once more.

Blinking away the edges of serenity that clung to his mind like ethereal fuzz, Jak looked down at himself. Ran careful hands over his chest, his arms.

He was fully restored to health, not even a twinge of pain where the healers had warned him would always ache at least a little. He hadn't been healed - he'd been remade.

Looking up, he noticed that the glow had retreated from all but the patch of floor closest to him. Also, a good two-thirds of the monks were rising from kneeling, like those that day in Spargus.

What was it about his Light form that got them all… weird?

Seem approached him, her expressionless mask a little fractured. She couldn't quite hide the widening of her eyes nor the increase in her breathing.

"You have been blessed." She observed, hands flashing in a brief gesture of prayer. "I… we… are honoured to have witnessed it." She hesitated then half-turned, making a gesture that seemed to tell the other monks to go away. Some immediately obeyed, others lingered.

She turned back.

"I had thought…" She began haltingly, before stopping and trying again. "The time of trial spoken of. It is… the Day Star, am I correct?"

Jak tilted his head, wondering. Was she having second thoughts about trusting Veger over Damas? Or just worried that there was _more_ to worry about?

"I think so." He answered cautiously. "I've been kind of piecing it together as I go. The Oracles I've met don't seem to be fans of spelling things out, though."

A smile flickered over her lips.

"No." She agreed. "They are the voices of the Precursors and challenge us always to think for ourselves." Another lightning fast hesitation. "They are not usually so… loquacious… with us, however."

Jak studied her, trying to guess at her unspoken message.

"I'm not very quick on the uptake, they've got no choice." He offered lightly. It earned him another brief smile, this one tinged with melancholy.

Jak made a snap decision. Taking Seem carefully by the elbow, just above her armour, he drew her to the side of the room. With the rushing water and slowly-dwindling numbers of other monks affording them some privacy, he asked her directly.

"Seem. Why are you working with Veger?"

Her head snapped up, eyes huge in her face, shocked beyond her ability to control her reaction. It was several seconds before she even made the attempt, stepping back from Jak as she gathered herself.

"He's not a good man." Jak pressed. "Although I get maybe Damas is… not _ideal_, for different reasons… why _Veger_ of all people?"

Seem swallowed tightly. At the edges of her face, where her paint was worn thin, her skin was pinking.

"I.. Am. Beholden." She explained hoarsely, looking away. "He… I required help within Haven. He - his line - is the only…"

She looked back at Jak, disproportionately desperate.

"Jak, I would not if there were any other choice! But… _the Day Star approaches_! He knows the prophecies, he has studied the histories… Without his aid, we will _all_ burn!"

Jak felt the weight of the eco crystals within his bag, keys to the planetary defence weapon. Seem appeared to be ignorant as to their purpose, or she would never have given him one and encouraged him to find others. So what exactly did she expect Veger to do? What was it she thought only he _could_ do?

Was he, Jak, missing something himself? Was Veger as important as he was an asshole?

"The Oracle in the temple…" He started slowly, trying to remember exactly what they'd said. The revelation that they'd known and allowed his torturous imprisonment for some later purpose had taken most of his concentration at the time. "It told me there was a weapon in the core of the planet."

Seem startled again. Almost unconsciously, Jak decided not to tell her about the eco crystal keys just yet. Just in case. Maybe he was paranoid, but he couldn't take the chance she'd try stealing them for Veger.

"What, exactly, do you need Veger for?" He asked in bafflement. He vaguely recalled them arguing.

"Is it access? Because Ashelin-"

"It's not that." Seem interrupted. "Count Veger… he holds an artifact bound to his line. It gives him control over Precursor artefacts. He has no heirs, no others of close blood relation. We have no choice, Jak. Without him… we are doomed."

Sudden hatred twisted her face, cracking the paint. It looked unnatural on her.

"He will pay for his crimes." She swore lowly. "But I cannot allow it until our world is safe."

She bowed suddenly, hands moving in an increasingly familiar pattern.

"Forgive me." She said simply, reigning in her emotions until only creases near her eyes betrayed her.  
"I must go to seek serenity."

She straightened, eyes flicking up, then away.

"…there is a small transport of monks leaving for Haven soon. You are welcome to join them." For a young woman, she looked abruptly weary and old.

"We both seek to save the world. Should one of us manage it… I will pay my dues."

Then she left, vanishing swiftly through a side door. The few monks left behind had mostly returned to their meditations, though one stood as Jak's gaze passed over him and came to bow before him.

"Master."

Jak blinked at him. Instead of taking this for the 'wot?' expression it was, the monk - unpainted, whatever that meant - took it as acknowledgement.

"Have you need of anything?"

Behind him, Pecker silently mimicked him before exaggeratedly faux-spitting. It seemed the moncaw wasn't a fan of such behaviour outside of life or death situations. Daxter stood at his side, ignoring him to stare calculatingly instead at Jak. A twitch of Jak's ear was all the summons he needed, scampering forward and up to stand upon Jak's shoulder once more.

Without an audience, Pecker grudgingly flapped up to rest on a hanging bowl spilling dusky white flowers.

"Yeah." Jak said, quirking smile at the young monk tried to keep his expression neutral. "I need a ride. I hear some of you are heading to Haven?"

_J&D J&D J&D_

Veger restrained himself as best he could but could not _help_ the small curl to his lips.

This was the moment. The turning point in history. This was the downfall of House Praxis, the ignition of the star that would be House Veger and the final boot to the mewling mongrel that House Mar had become. The print-outs in his hand were more deadly than any blade, more unstoppable even than a _Dark Eco Warrior_.

His fingertips tingled, the room flushed with colour, all else ceased to exist but him, the wench on the throne and the evidence that would bury her.

"Gentlemen of the council!" He burst out, unable to wait a moment longer for the toothless Chairman to call the milling nobles to order. Once upon a time, House Greer had been House Mar's greatest ally. Until the uprising. Until the ruling noble had been, hmm, _incapacitated_ and his ageing forebear had stepped in to obliviously maintain the form of things whilst a blatant coup frothed under his leathery nose.

Greer, _The Watchful_, pah.

Once he took command, there would be no Council for men like Greer. Nor indeed, for men like _himself. _It wouldn't do to allow another to follow in his footsteps, after all.

"I apologise for putting aside procedure." He continued, needing to bull through their censure before they could actually articulate it. "But I have uncovered inconvertible _proof_ of treason against the state by a key figure, large-scale theft of military hardware by the same and probable evidence of imminent attack!"

The council room was shocked silent. Even Lady Praxis blinked hard before narrowing her eyes in furious suspicion.

"Lady Praxis!" Veger intoned dramatically "We have locked horns before over policies and personnel but this is beyond any petty squabble. I have here-" he thrust the papers into the air "photographs of the man who served as the Gang Lord Krew's right hand. As those of you who read the intelligence reports know-" Almost none of them would have, the lazy and uninterested cattle. "Figaro Krew was incapable of moving without the aid of a hover chair and had lieutenants to carry out his orders. One such lieutenant was responsible for the acquisition of the fabled 'Ruby Key' - the very one which Mar once used to bring refugees into our Glorious Haven City - and he used it to _open the door to our enemies!"_

He slapped the first of the photos down onto the scanner embedded in the podium. Screens around the room lit up, displaying the image to all. The photos were stills taken from security cameras. Each was of Jak.

Here, entering the sewers. Here, destroying a turret - one of the few defences they _had_ against sewer-borne Hora Quan. Here, leaving the sewers, overlarge key in hand.

"This is hardly-!" Lady Praxis objected, and Veger strengthened his voice to ring above hers.

"_And further, _you will see him entering the Underport. Note the timestamp? Within the hour, Metal Heads breached out city without ever even _scratching_ the wall. Because they were _**let in**_. By this _traitorous criminal_! This, _Jak_."

All eyes turned to the Governor.

"And this, Lords and Lady, is only the first piece of alarming information I have unearthed." Veger continued, stifling his toe-curling satisfaction.

"As we all know, Lady Praxis assigned this same man to oversee the Port refuge for our citizens - for some reason denying them sanctuary _here_ in New Haven."

"_This council_ refused-!"

"AND he seemed to have been doing an exceptional job!" Veger shouted over her. He almost didn't need to. Every other man was hanging on his word. "So much so that we were… _relieved_ when she reported that she had sent him to disarm the War Factory - though _how _it was ever rearmed despite only her Ladyship holding the access keys is something she has hitherto refrained from explaining. It seems, though, that our trust in her was misplaced. These are of the sky over and around Haven. What, pray tell, do you see?"

"…Nothing." A baffled Lord Fayne, standing in for his father, supplied on cue. His young, plump face was already slightly shiny with anxious sweat. By his tone of voice and expression, however, he had no idea of the import of his own observation.

"Precisely." Veger enunciated sharply. _"Nothing_. No War Factory. Why? Because the man who opened our city to the enemy was _given access codes_ to our mobile military factory and thenceforth _absconded with it_!"

He replaced the images with an older photo, one from within the old prison. Lady Praxis had ordered all records sealed, but he was the Head of Intelligence. There were _no_ feeds in the city that he didn't have access to. Dutifully, almost enthralled, the other members of the Council turned their attention to it. Some recoiled upon seeing it. Young Lord Fayne barely stifled a girlish shriek.

It was the same man as in all the others, it was Jak, recognisable despite the horns and blood-soaked hair, or the animal rage that twisted his features and blackened his eyes.

"He is what he was made to be." Veger dropped the blade. "Not a weapon, but a tool. Broken to the will of his handler like any serviceable animal. I _had_ thought he was perhaps one who'd slipped his collar. Chosen of his own accord to leave the Baron's side, join the Underground and fight against him. Considering his theft of the War Factory - at Lady Praxis' command - I have clearly been optimistically in error."

The Lady herself shot to her feet, cheeks and throat red with pure rage.

"HOW DARE YOU?!" She thundered. "Such-such _crass _and _baseless_ accusations! A handful of- of circumstantial at _best_ photographs and tawdry insinuations is evidence of _**nothing**_! You over-step, Veger!"

"No, YOU DO!" Veger rose his voice to match, saw her falter in a split second of shock as he finally met her in open challenge. Never before had he stepped so irrevocably forward, had made it so undeniably a contest, a comparison between them.

He was challenging her, here and now, for the throne.

"Your authority is bound by this council and yet you have treated us like a spectator to your decisions. You subverted the course of law by working for the Underground when your father was in control, only to shamelessly pardon _yourself_ and all your compatriots after seizing power!" He stalked away from his podium, towards her, coming for her stolen power.

"You appointed the _criminal _who aided you in your coup to a position of power and prestige in the Port. A criminal who not only appears to have been instrumental in the _invasion_ of our city but who has now stolen our single greatest defence - the War Factory."

He stood, tall and solid and unforgiving.

"Lady Praxis, I find your decisions to have been grounded in incompetence at best, treason at worst. I call upon the Council to hold you in contempt and strip you of your station. House Veger calls!"

White-faced, boxed in by the procedure she so pedantically obeyed, the Lady could do nothing but await the guillotine.

Predictably, Fayne was the first to shoot to his feet. The young idiot personified his middle-class origins, puffed on his own importance whilst simultaneously catering to the whim of his social superior. That Veger was responsible for his family's promotion to nobility made _him_ that superior.

"House Fayne answers!"

Leaning heavily on his staff, Lord Gildas got to his feet. Of all the old Houses, his was the only one to fully back Praxis and Veger's coup, losing no members to exile or death. Although not quite an ally, Gildas' agenda often aligned with Veger's. Well, except for certain key issues. After his victory today, their two Houses would not likely be allies. Still:

"House Gildas answers."

Veger turned a piercing stare to the equally old man who represented House Aveza. Eccentric as most of their line were, the Lord cared for little beyond his orchids. He felt the pressure of his position, though, enough that he was an anxious vote blown this way and that by the strongest political forces. The moment he left the council rooms, Veger knew, Lord Aveza would gladly give the events within not a measure more of thought. He quailed now under Veger's eye and fumbled to his feet.

"House, House Aveza answers."

Three votes. The House was split. One more was all that was needed to see his greatest political rival destroyed and his own power sealed.

Stocky Lord Phillox, oft-times ally of Lady Praxis, stood. His House had grown to hate the Baron's rule and he himself had no doubt formed ties with Praxis' heir-apparent specifically to ensure more sensible economic decisions were made once the Baron passed on. Traditionally they cared more for the health of the city than any ruler, but had still lost several of their most talented members along with the King.

"House Phillox abstains."

So saying, the Lord retook his seat. Veger allowed only the barest shade of contempt to filter through his expression. Surely the only thing worse than a fool was a coward. Phillox supported Lady Praxis' agenda but didn't know what to make of the evidence of her seeming-incompetence. Rather than challenge or investigate it, he chooses to simply sit it out and see what happens - much like he had during the original coup. Cowardice or weakness, he despised them both.

At least it played into Veger's hand.

Lord Kashus, another fair-weather follower, was darting calculating eyes about the room. He was no fool. A splinter line of the original House Sfwaan, his family had replaced the one that was destroyed during the coup. They'd pandered to the Baron when he was in power, then crawled for Lady Praxis' favour after the rebellion. The Underground had advertised their intent to restore the throne to the heir of Mar, after all. Had she done so as promised, it would not have been unlikely for any surviving members of House Sfwaan to have returned to reclaim their hereditary seats of power.

But she hadn't, and they wouldn't hesitate to support any situation that would ensure she _couldn't_.

"House Kashus answers."

Lady Praxis' hands fisted. Veger let his deep satisfaction curl his lips. All eyes turned to the final House, for his (inconsequential, now) vote and formal acknowledgement.

Lord Greer, Chairman and toothless head of the once-premium House, slowly stood.

"House Greer…" he croaked. Veger waited, almost curious despite himself. Greer had a reputation for clinging to the trappings of law rather than the letter, for risking nothing since their last Lord had been betrayed almost to his death. Even though it no longer mattered, Veger fully expected the geriatric Lord to side with the evidence and support House Veger's motion.

"…abstains."

Veger raised an eyebrow, not appreciating the surprise despite how utterly insignificant it now was.

"As Chairman of the Grand Council of Haven City," Lord Greer continued "I do so recognise the standing of Houses Fayne, Gildas, Aveza and Kashus behind the House of Veger in challenge to the House of Praxis. I do so note the abstention of Houses Phillox and Greer. The call is supported. Lady Praxis, you are, regrettably, held in contempt of this Council and stripped of your station. The position of Governor duly passes to Lord Veger in accordance with the law. Madam Praxis, please leave this Council body immediately and make ready all deeds, keys and command of your former station to be transferred to your replacement, Lord Veger."

Although already straight-backed, _Madam Praxis _- Veger savoured the moment - drew herself up even further.

"Though I formally register my complaint that due process has not been followed, I concede to the will of the Council." The woman said stiffly. Veger almost wanted to applaud her for her poise. If she weren't so foolishly bullheaded and of such low birth, she might actually make an admirable wife.

Without another word, the ex-Governor of Haven City stalked from the room.

Slowly, under the eyes of his new Council, Veger took the throne.

He smiled.

"Shall we get to business, gentlemen?"

**J&D J&D J&D**

Remember that bit in Jak 3 when Ashelin randomly is all 'I hereby dissolve the council and strip you of power, Veger' when things are on the edge and Veger proclaims to have exclusive knowledge about the planetary defence weapon? There doesn't seem to be any reason beyond Ashelin just being sick of his face and not wanting the council to complain at her later. There are no witnesses beyond Veger and Ashelin's friends/cronies. So, either her power is far beyond what it seemed at the start of the game (d'oh well Jak, good luck in the desert!) or at some point off-screen during the crisis she wrangled some sort of emergency powers.

Yeah, so anyway, _that_ won't be possible anymore.

Also, BWAHAHAHHAHAAHA the bodyguards were a red herring! I was just curious what you would think. Any time I try to think of Jak with a bodyguard, all I can see is little!Jak with a _dead_ one.


	19. Chapter 19

_Yami Dragoness of Dark _was a huge help in making the path forward clearer and getting this chapter out so fast. Also, I re-watched a walkthrough because it became quickly apparent I'd forgotten a lot and during it I noticed that in Jak 3 an entire mountain range/forest seems to have been installed outside the Agri-sector, where once there was just a narrow bit of rock and a teleportation ring. Yup. That's how unobservant I am.

Also, I see the Guard as a sort of army/police force combined. And sometimes I see the Freedom League as something a little less disciplined than either. Because c'mon. _Freedom League._

**Warning for swearing** in this chapter. More than usual, I mean, and from unusual characters.

_J&D J&D J&D_

"Daddy, Daddy!"

Argo smiled, already removing his helmet as Io ran up to him.

"Hey kitten. How was your day?" He knelt to accept her hug, wishing he weren't in armour so he could cuddle her properly. He never seemed to have enough time for his kids. It was sometimes enough to make him wish he'd followed his mother's wishes and just apologised to his father. Then he could spend all day with them, but…

No. He couldn't. Even now, with Melete gone except for a lock of her hair, he wouldn't apologise for loving her. He couldn't disrespect her like that, even in death.

Even if she'd be rolling her eyes at him, telling him it was the least of what she would bear for their children.

He pulled back.

"Where's your brother, Io? Where's Phoro?"

"Painting." She pointed. At the far end of the long, narrow room, a group of younger kids had been collected safely onto a spread of old papers, plates of paint scattered around them. Ideally, they were painting the white rectangles of paper in the middle. In reality, there'd be some angry parents around here soon.

He sighed.

"Go get him, kits. I'm off tonight, so I thought maybe we'd keep reading about Princess Troublemaker…?"

Io gasped with delight and ran, tugged her brother to his feet and babbled something to the late-teen watching over the group. The girl looked over and Argo waved, gaining a nod in return. Then his kids were back, Io beaming and Phoro sulking.

"Got him, Daddy! And it's Princess _Aisling, _daughter of-"

"-of Mar, I know kits. We _are_ on the third book. Phoro, good day?"

Phoro's sulk slid towards a scowl, stubbornly sealing his mouth shut. Argo manfully restrained another sigh.

"Alright, then. Bath, food, book, sleep." He scooped his kids up, Io giggling, Phoro crossing his arms.

"Hey, Daddy?" Io asked as they walked out, passing other parents come to collect their children. "How come your armour is gold now?"

"I tripped and fell into a bucket of paint."

Even Phoro cracked a tiny grin, turning his face into his father's shoulder to hide it. Argo smiled fondly at them both.

"So, who can tell me what part we were up to..?"

_J&D J&D J&D_

An hour and a half later and they were finally leaving the building turned over to public sanitation. It was damned annoying to have to queue up for something so simple as washing his kids, especially after working such long shifts. As Aconite's second in command, he clocked in almost as many hours as her. Unlike her, however, his remaining family couldn't mostly take care of themselves.

The sun had fully set by now and his kids were mostly-asleep against his shoulders. At least he'd had the chance to remove his breastplate and scrub up in a basin whilst Io and Phoro splashed about in a tub. Now he just had to decide if it was worth waking them long enough to get some food in them or not.

Soft music floated over the water from the far island. The kids providing it had fumbled a bit before working out what most people wanted to hear - especially around this time of night - but the soft beat and gentle acoustics now being produced were worth it. He moved through the mass of people, vaguely pitying those still waiting in line for a bath but mostly relieved not to be them. Although he had a bunk in the makeshift barracks, when he was off duty and had his kids with him he preferred a spot in with the civvies. More room for one, less chance of someone dropping foul language around them for another.

An elderly lady whose name he never managed to remember smiled kindly at him. She glanced pointedly at his children and he shook his head, smiling a little in thanks. He wouldn't wake them up just for a meal. Precursors knew they wouldn't shut up again till dawn if he did.

Instead, moving to their tiny designated area in between some stacked crates that doubled as a handy wind break/privacy screen, he lay them down on the thin mattress he'd bartered for and covered them up.

Sitting down was almost painful, his muscles stinging with the relief. He'd been walking almost all day, fighting off sporadic advances from scattered Metal Heads and KG bots - mostly in the Agri-sector closest to the Bazaar - and clearing the area surrounding their entry points in regular patrols. His rifle was back at the barracks - he was permitted to carry it at all times considering the situation, but wouldn't so long as there was a chance his kids could lay hands on it - but he'd kept his armour just in case. The upper body section he dropped now to the side, angling it to shelter his kids somewhat. The arm-guards he'd tied to his belt whilst washing, those he put back on. He left his leg guards on as well, the less to throw on should he be called in suddenly.

A movement at the edge of their little enclosure drew his attention to the old lady, who handed him a deep cup with a smile.

"Yakkow and leek stew tonight." She explained. "You look like you could do with a sup."

"Thank you, ma'am." Argo answered automatically, muscles tensing in preparation to stand. The woman waved him down.

"Least I can do." She demurred. "My eyes and my back aren't so good for shootin', not any more. I'm grateful for you and yours - I feel safe 'round here. It's a nice feelin'."

Argo ducked his head.

"Just doing our job, ma'am." He murmured. The woman pinned him with an unexpectedly sharp look.

"Didn' used to be." She retorted before leaving. Argo winced at the truth in it. He'd never been _ashamed_ to be a guard, no matter what his family said or how many kids threw food at him. But… it had been an ugly job at times. Not just the orders he'd been given, but the people who flinched away from him simply because of what he was wearing - what he represented. He'd signed up to serve and protect, not serve and oppress.

Things had been better lately, since the Baron's daughter took control. People's memories were long, though, and he hadn't felt quite so… valued. Worthy? As he had since becoming part of the Port Defence.

Since being assigned to the secret prince, heir to the throne of Haven city. _That_ had been a doozy of a revelation; Lady Praxis just as blunt as she always was as she revealed that the infamous _Jak_ of the Underground - rumoured Dark Eco Warrior and terror of many a guard - was really _Mar_, son of ex-King Damas. That had been enough of a shock, without her confirmation that Mister- Commander- _Prince Mar_ - had been the one to power and fire his ancestor's Precursor gun, enabling him to then storm the Metal Head nest single-handedly and take out their leader. Something no-one, _no-one_ had even come _close_ to managing before him, not with a hundred soldiers and all the weaponry their war factory could produce.

He might not have trusted the information coming from just anyone, but this was _Commander Ashelin_. She was a soldier's soldier, loyal and true to the bone.

So. He and Aconite had not only been _assigned_ to a prince, but informed of his identity. He couldn't help but wonder _why_. He knew the Underground had promised an heir, it had been their one claim to legitimacy, but when a year had gone by and Ashelin had failed to either crown or even produce one… Well, he'd assumed (like a lot of other people) that it had all just been a propaganda line or even just a rumour taken as fact.

But here one was, of-age to take the throne should he win a challenge for it but apparently content to just… _not_.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that, for all he was technically their Port commanding officer, he wasn't around much. In the beginning, yeah. He got everything organised but then just seemed to… vanish. His little orange pet/companion passed messages but Princ- _Jak_ himself seemed to have other things to do.

How reliable was he? Was this why he wasn't crowned or even revealed to the general public?

What could he possibly be doing that was so important?

He might be able to write him off as lazy or uninterested in his command were it not for the fact that when Jak reappeared, he made impossible things happen. Like regaining - and _reclaiming_ - the Agri-sector. Argo would have bet his life savings that it'd become another Dead Town - utterly irretrievable.

But somehow, Jak made it happen. And, to be fair, he hadn't been gone _that_ long. He'd been the powerhouse backbone behind their successful run to collect stranded Slummers, had had at least one communication with Aconite once away and had returned soon after the satellites hit. He'd gone into the infested Agri-sector _himself_, which wasn't the action of a selfish or cowardly man. He'd taken off again after - well, after volunteering to go out and collect _plants_ of all things, then reaffirming Argo's localised command despite being shut down over it - but rumour had it the disappearance of the War Factory and subsequent sharp decrease in KG bots attacking them was another of his impossible achievements.

And speaking of rumours…

He sighed then sipped at his cooling stew as his eyes fell to his discarded armour. He _should_ wash the copper-gold paint off, as was proper, but… he couldn't help it. Despite not being certain about the man himself, he _was _a Prince and he _had_ been assigned to work under him. Also, there was an argument to be made for morale - or at least keeping the peace with the man's more rabid civilian admirers. What was a splash of paint in light of all that?

_Trouble_. He answered himself resignedly. _There's always trouble in Haven._

As if summoning it upon himself, his comm chirruped. He flicked it on, already gulping the rest of his stew.

"Aconite here, we got a shitstorm brewing, get your ass back to HQ _now_."

Argo swallowed painfully, glancing over at his kids, half wondering - as he often did - if he'd have the chance to finish reading them the entire _Princess Aisling_ series, or if today would be the day his job put him in the ground.

"Roger that." He answered, the second his throat was clear of stew. The cup was put aside, his armour shrugged on. He'd ask the old woman to mind his kids until the daycare opened again tomorrow.

"I'm on my way."

_J&D J&D J&D_

The Naughty Ottsel was clear of civilians when Jak walked in. He shared a glance with Daxter, who had already dropped to all fours in expectation of bad news. Pecker was absent, having flapped back to Onin fast enough that he missed Dax's passing crack about separation anxiety with octogenarians.

Captains Aconite and Argo, Ashelin and Torn were all standing around a new computer console that had been installed in the centre of the room.

"Hey! Who said you could put that there?!" Daxter snapped, diverting their attention, giving Jak a little more time to take in the situation. Aconite and Argo seemed immune, straightening and saluting the second they saw Jak, but Ashelin and Torn glared at the ottsel.

"Tess gave the okay." Torn growled, then rolled his eyes when Daxter's fur immediately went back down with a "Well, that's alright then."

"We needed better communication between the Port and Northern HQ." Ashelin added, turning to Jak. "This also comes equipped with a sensor array that should make guard duty a little easier. It was due to come down anyway… and I thought it best that I escorted it personally."

Jak's gaze flickered between the four. "…Why?"

Ashelin and Torn shared a look, tight and grim.

"…I've been kicked out of the Council." Ashelin admitted candidly. "Veger made a play using an archaic form of challenge. A few photos and some scaremongering later and he's now Governor of Haven city - as well as Commander of the Guard, starting tomorrow."

Jak jerked. Of everything he would have expected, this wouldn't have been it.

"How does that even-" He shook his head.

"I think what my eloquent friend is _trying_ to say is: WHAT THE HELL?!" Daxter yowled. "_We_ went through all those crappy Underground missions to put _your_ butt in charge and you lose it in barely a year? To some random slimeball? I thought you were tap-dancing all those compromises to _prevent exactly this situation!_"

Ashelin _snarled._

"I was taken down for my association with _you_! What happened with the War Factory?! What the hell did you do with it?"

Jak felt Daxter bristle and answered before he exploded.

"We turned it over to Vin. Somehow, he… before he died, he turned himself into some sort of computer mind? He jumped into the system to shut it all down - and he found out who had been causing it to go into production again. Errol."

Ashelin and Torn traded startled looks.

"Errol?" Torn's brow furrowed. "That maniac's still alive?"

"Alive is relative." Dax snarked, still angry. "Dude's more machine than man, these days. Full on sci-fi cyborg and crazier than ever."

"I think he's allied himself to the Dark Makers." Jak added. "He summoned some… _creatures_ that were more saturated with dark eco than any Metal Head. He escaped through the same portal he used to summon them."

"But Jak was badly injured in the fight, so Vin took him out to those weirdo rubber monks for healing." Daxter quickly cut in. "He's still out there, 'cause he don't wanna be a War Machine for nobody."

Ashelin slid Jak a sharp look. Torn just frowned.

"But… if he's a bit brain and he's in control… then he _is_ a War Machine."

Jak went predator-still.

"No." He said plainly, darkened eyes meeting Torn's. "He's not."

Torn didn't look away.

"…so he isn't." He agreed after a moment. "Not that it matters much, in the end. Veger saw that it went missing, knew that Ashelin had sent _you_ to shut it down and has accused you of stealing it - potentially on Ashelin's orders."

Jak frowned. "We can get Vin to bring it back-" he started. Ashelin shook her head.

"It won't be enough. In fact, it'll probably just make Veger look _better_, like it was his leadership that got the factory back from the grip of a traitor."

"Traitor?!" Jak and Daxter yelped in unison. Ashelin made a grimace that might, in a good light, look apologetic.

"Yeah. He's claiming you helped Krew open the city to the Metal Heads last year." Something about the way she said it cut him up inside, just a little.

"You don't believe that, do you?"

"It doesn't matter what _I_ believe." She turned away. "He provided circumstantial evidence - basically just photos of you being in the wrong place at the wrong time - the worst of which was you entering the Underport a half-hour before the invasion began. Since there's a door to the outside down there and none of our walls were breeched, he's claiming you opened it. And now there's Metal Heads in the city again."

Jak swallowed tightly. They _weren't_ traitors, but Precursors, he could see how easy it would be to prove they were.

"And Veger thinks _we're_ responsible?" Daxter demanded. "We've been bustin' our butts _helpin' _people, why would we do that _and_ betray 'em?"

Ashelin shook her head, the tiny red metal beads at the end of her dreadlocks clicking with the movement.

"I don't think he genuinely does, no." She said soberly. "But again, it doesn't matter what he _thinks_. It matters what he says and who he says it _too_. A few hours ago he circulated a 'public service announcement' warning people of your past misdeeds and suspected treason. He's calling for people to turn you in for judgement." Her green eyes found Jak's and narrowed pointedly. "He has proof that, at the very least, you once had Mar's Ruby Key in your possession. He's claiming that ex members of Krew's gang have voluntarily come forward to testify that Krew sent 'someone' down to the Underport to open the doors with it."

"But that someone wasn't us." Jak defended. "And we know the guy who _was_ sent - Krew set him up, the guy had no idea what opening the door would do and if we hadn't gotten to him in time he'd have been _eaten alive_ down there."

"That doesn't matter either." Ashelin said flatly, though her eyes had softened a little. "Veger's a politician's politician. A few incriminating security stills, a nasty accusation that can't be easily _dis_proved… Even if he actually does pull you up in front of a jury and they believe you were an ignorant pawn in one of Krew's schemes, you _worked for the man_ so he can still get you as an accessory - at the very _least_ - to a traitor. And with the recent infestation, the attacks - people are scared and looking for someone to blame. Krew's too long dead to take much of it and Veger's happy to let a little blind mob justice do his dirty work for him."

There was a short silence. With his enhanced hearing, Jak could just make out what sounded like a low buzz of voices, like a whumpbee's nest just waiting to explode. This wasn't the calm chatter of the past week and a half, nor the excited hum of people who saw victory in their future. This was discontent. This was _anger_.

"Ma'am." Aconite interjected, frowning ever so slightly. "If I may, the people within the Port harbour no such feelings. The general mood has been one of content confidence - particularly after the reclamation of the Agri-sector - not fear."

She didn't mention blame. That was probably because in the Port, where there _was_ blame, it had previously been aimed at _Ashelin_ for failing them to the point where a fellow civilian had to step in to do her job for her.

Ashelin smiled a little.

"I'm glad." She answered honestly. "The people in New Haven have only gotten more anxious." She looked back at Jak. "They'll be ripe for Veger's machinations."

"What can we do?" Jak asked seriously. Ashelin just shook her head again and shrugged. For the first time since he'd met her, she looked completely at a loss.

"Ma'am, if you're no longer in command…" Aconite began, unusually hesitant herself.

Ashelin looked her dead in the eye.

"Until tomorrow, 8am, I am." She said crisply. Then something unwound. "After that, Commander Torn will be your immediate superior, with Veger as Keeper of the Peace being de facto Commander of the Guard. At that time, he may rescind my order for the Guard presence here in the Port - or order you to take full command. You should be prepared for that."

Aconite and Argo shared a lightning-fast look. Argo left at a quick trot, heading out the door that led upstairs.

"One of the civilian leaders approached us about a job that I don't think is possible to do alone." Aconite addressed Ashelin and Jak both. "Ma'am, if you and Commander Jak agree that it's worth doing… then it'll need to be done before you hand over command tomorrow."

Argo reappeared, Tess hot on his heels. Her eyes lit up, lines in her face smoothing as she spotted Jak and Dax. For once, possibly due to the tense atmosphere, she didn't spend the first thirty seconds cooing sugar at the ottsel.

"Good to see you're back." She greeted. "I know you've got a lot on your plate right now, but as I was saying to Keira the other day - we could do with another supply run. We were thinking the Stadium district? Either to loot or take it, same as the Agri-sector. But I've since heard rumours that there are still people trapped in there, which was why I brought it to Captain Aconite. Is there anything we can do for them?"

She was looking at Jak, all but ignoring the two Commanders of the Freedom League.

"I told her we just didn't have the numbers - not for a zone still heaving with KG bots and the occasional Metal Head infestation." Aconite also addressed Jak, before turning to Ashelin. "But, possibly, a two-pronged attack?"

Ashelin shifted her weight. A smile tugged at her lips.

"If we get enough volunteers," she agreed "it's a good note to go out on." She focused on Jak. "Can't Vin shut them down remotely?"

He shook his head, but Daxter answered for him.  
"Closed circuit, toots. Vin says if he got a hardline in one, he could probably overcome their programming - but wireless is a no-go."

"We could go in and thin the ranks a little first." Jak gestured to Daxter and himself. "Just get in, make a mess, get out." Not surprisingly, Aconite was giving him that special 'You're the Prince so I won't tell you how much of a moron I think you're being' glare she'd perfected during their short mission together. What she _said_ instead was maybe worse.

"Where's your gun?"

Jak winced, feeling the lack of weight at his back anew. A brief memory of _**Errol**__, height, __**loss**_ battered at him but he shoved it away.

"Destroyed, in the fight with Errol." He said bluntly. "But then, I hardly _need_ it."

For the first time ever, willingly in the company of friends and allies, he triggered his Dark.

It hurt, like it always hurt, but almost comfortably - like the familiar ache after a long and hard run. His muscles rippled, but his back didn't hunch. His nails thickened, lengthened, sharpened into claws. His skin and hair paled, but didn't quite reach the albino white they used to.

He'd noticed it only _after_ the fact, during the long hours of restless recovery in the caverns. When he'd fought Errol, his form had been different. Even his descent into mindlessness had been a choice. He'd been terrified, furious and hateful. He'd _needed_ Dark Jak's strength the way he hadn't _needed_ since first escaping the Prison.

Initially, and now… everything was just clearer. It still hurt, he was still 99% violence and bloodshed but it simmered a degree below boiling.

Blood no longer trickled into his eyes because horns no longer erupted out of his skull. He could only chalk it up to something done to him during his 'blessings' by the Precursors. Some change, slow and subtle, that undid some of the damage the Baron's ham-fisted efforts had wrought. Or at least smoothed out the rough edges.

He looked at them all, slow and steady, long enough to prove he was still _himself _before transitioning directly into his Light form.

_That_ hurt a lot more, but as serenity rushed in, the pain faded and Light Jak observed four military people shocked senseless.

Aconite recovered first, but then she'd seen both forms in action before. Argo, either following her body language, psychic message or _also_ having seen it before, swiftly followed. Ashelin and Torn took a few seconds more.

"What… _are_ you?" Ashelin asked at last. Daxter, who normally chilled on the vibes Jak put off (or so he said, Jak tended to be too zen to notice) jumped down onto the computer console, standing square before Jak as though to physically defend him.

"Think of him as a sage." His friend suggested, tone much friendlier than his expression. Jak rested a gentle hand on his head, the ottsel relaxing despite himself though he still scowled.

"It's not a bad comparison." He spoke for the first time in this form. His voice was reminiscent of the Monastery. Echoing and open, with distant sounds you felt more than heard. "This is something that can be achieved by almost anyone with a talent for eco channelling. When I was a child, I had a talent for all forms of eco. Baron Praxis reduced most of those in his attempt to… 'specialise' me for dark. The result was a sort of artificial Sage state. It took me a long while to catch up, learning through experience how to keep a handle on it and only finally gaining proper control after Precursor intervention. That same intervention led to this." He gestured at his glowing self. "Again, an imposed Sage state - one I'll have to work to be worthy of, to understand and fully utilise."

He let the transformation go, closing glowing white eyes against the brief headache of all his troubles crashing back down.

"Neither can be maintained indefinitely - not like Samos." He finished. "Because I didn't _earn_ them the proper way. Fortunately, since the Dark Makers are coming for us _right now_, and the damage the Baron did can't be undone, the Precursors are allowing me to jump the gun a little and temporarily access full Sage powers _now_."

If Ashelin felt any discomfort at the reminder of what her father had done to him - and _tried_ to do to hundreds of others - she didn't show it. But then, that hadn't been what he'd intended.

"I'm not ashamed of what I am." He said quietly. "Although it's taken me a long time. And I still sometimes do things I'm not proud of. But I am, all of me, who I am. If you can't accept that, just say the word."

Daxter stared everyone down.

"Accept it?" Ashelin snorted. "I'm glad for it. The less moping the better. It's also good to know the Precursors are on our side." Her mouth twisted. "Unfortunately, it's probably not a good idea for you to go in first. I've no doubt you'd heavily dent their numbers but this will need to be as fast and surgical as possible in order to both retrieve any survivors _and_ get it done before Veger notices. You can always head in again after to mop up."

She paused.

"And if I were still the Governor, I'd tell you to _stop appropriating parts of the damned city_." She glowered. "What happens once all this shit is over with and people go home only to find bits of it _missing_? Cut it out."

Jak shrugged, risked a grin.

"End the war faster." He needled.

She ignored him.

"I think the old announcement network is our best bet to lead with. Maybe an hour before we attack, we could send a message so the civilians know what to expect. Question is, what do we tell them?"

"They should get high." Torn suggested. "On the rooftops if possible. With ground _and _air forces occupying the hostiles, we can send transports in to pick them up. If they're still alive, they're almost certainly inside and all buildings in that sector have fire escape with roof access."

"There's still a risk they could be shot down." Ashelin disagreed. "It only takes one shot slipping through."

"Then we prioritise the sniper cannons." Torn argued. "Take them down first before any transports are even launched. Set the air crew to clear out each area before the transports set down and run escort for them."

"That'll take backup away from the ground troops." Ashelin frowned. "At last count, we just don't have the manpower for them to do it all on their own."

Argo twitched, cutting himself off before he could speak. Ashelin pinned him with an expectant look.

"If you've got an idea, out with it." She ordered. "We don't have time to stand on formality."

Argo glanced lightning-fast at his immediate superior but otherwise appeared unbothered.

"We could stagger the attack." He suggested. "Take out the sniper cannons first, certainly - possibly with a small strike team for each. But after, if we split our forces between the Port and New Haven, one side can launch an attack _designed_ to draw attention. The bots are on a closed circuit, if they detect trouble in only one area their protocol allows for unrestricted backup to be sent. Make enough noise Port-side, do enough damage, and they'll empty the other side of the district. Once that side is cleared of civilians, the Port-side retreats and New Haven starts making the noise. If it works, the risk to civilians is almost zero."

"If it works." Ashelin repeated cynically, before shrugging. "It's a better plan than assaulting all at once, though. If we route troops from one side to the other, we won't have our forces spread so thin and most of our hellcats can be spared from escort duty to provide air support."

"If it fails, though, it could be catastrophic." Torn pointed out mercilessly. "Transports full of civilians with almost no protection."

"We'd see the shift in bot movement, if they noticed and doubled back." Ashelin pointed out speculatively. "They're sophisticated, but not subtle." Torn nodded his agreement.

"I think we have a plan, then."

_J&D J&D J&D_

The plan went off almost without a hitch. Jak was a strike team in and of himself - especially with the rifle Aconite forced on him with the threat of tagging along if he didn't take it - and Ashelin had outfitted the guards with far more than the standard rifle/taser combo. Grenades, missiles and scatter guns went in with them, along with hefty numbers and much-improved tactics. She even boosted the Port's permanent guard, a silent nod to Jak's future plans to clear the Stadium district entirely.

Before dawn Ashelin had recorded and set to loop a message throughout the Stadium district. It told people precisely which half of the district would be rescued at which time and warned everyone to be on a rooftop on time or be left behind. What she had decided, but not mentioned in the announcement, was that life signs would be scanned for during the move. Anyone not on a rooftop was probably trapped and would need to be remembered for any future, smaller-scale attempts.

Then the Port-side hit, all soldiers and all efficiency. Small bombs, designed to make noise more than damage anything, went in first. Fast runners fanned out to attract attention and draw the murderous bots back towards the Port line and into the kill-zone. The more bots that went down, the higher their threat registered with the rest of them and the more were sent. Once FL aerial units registered a mass movement towards the fighters, the signal was given.

Flying low and quiet, transports with only one or two guard bikes running escort _swarmed_ out of New Haven. To minimise the risk of having to abandon the attempt mid-way should one be spotted, they aimed to snatch everyone they could in a single go. This meant the occasional transport made multiple stops.

The first half went perfectly. All strike teams dealt with the sniper cannons during the initial assault. Almost no guards went down due to the bots being ill-prepared for such a massive kill-zone ambush and the piles of scrapped machinery were mounting. As soon as word came that the New Haven side was cleared, the Port side retreated. Volunteers ran bold strafing runs over the bots, pulling their attention away, goading them to the other side of the district.

They lost a few then. Isolated, they came under concentrated fire. They were quick, but some of them just weren't quick enough. All of them were too dedicated to just break off and get out with their skins intact. It didn't help that they were also stalling the bots, whilst still leading them, making sure the troops on the Port side had time to quickly triage, restock and shuttle off in a wide arc back to New Haven, ready to attack again whilst the transports - freshly unloaded - circled wide in the opposite direction.

The bots had wised up some by then. They didn't charge headfirst into the ambush waiting in New Haven. They hung back, forced the soldiers there to move in to engage. More lives were lost. Several which had stayed behind completely came running as the transports were spotted. The few guns waiting Port-side jumped in instantly, running to defend the scantily-protected pickups, but every second they bought them was a second the bots over on New Haven-side had to realise their flanks were under attack. More bots came back and if it weren't for the random Metal Heads aimlessly still running about the district, Jak would have exhausted his Dark supply ten times over, fighting them.

He'd kept his Light held back, what with no ready source of replenishment handy, as best he could. The occasional time-slow was all he allowed himself, even as burning lasers and red eco shots bubbled and burned his skin.

Still, in the end, it could be called a success. Every civilian that had made it to a rooftop had been retrieved safely. Six other life-signs had been detected and fixed on a map, another message from Ashelin promising someone would be sent for them soon. Hundreds of bots had been destroyed. The sniper cannons were no more, making air travel nigh-unrestricted once more. People could shuttle to and from the two safe zones, getting a change of scenery and making contact with lost friends and family. Air support would make retaking the rest of the city much easier.

The only truly _bad_ bit about it all - besides the deaths of some of the men and women who'd made it happen - was that the rest of the battle for the city would be comparatively easy - and _Veger_ would be the one who'd take the credit for it as it happened during his rule.

Even _that_ would be tolerable, if galling, were it not for what happened next.

_J&D J&D J&D_

** TRAITOR  
**

**[ Jak ]**

**Armed and Dangerous**

**Report on Sight**

**BY ORDER OF GOVERNOR VEGER**

"…you look good." Daxter offered as the two of them stared at the offending flyer. As soon as they'd gotten back to the Naughty Ottsel, a _furious_ Tess had shoved it in their hands. Under the eye-catching headline was a pair of photos, one from his time in the prison, grainy and zoomed in so all you saw was his feral expression - and not the men trying to wrestle him into the treatment chair. The other photo was more recent, probably the clearest shot they had of him with short hair and also obviously taken from a security still. He looked like he was glaring, maybe, although people who actually knew him would know he was just focused on something. Then again, this _wasn't aimed_ at people who knew him.

"That… _sackless scumbag_." Tess hissed, pacing back and forth before them, her hands clenching over and over. "He sent a troop of private security over to put up the fucking things. I snatched one before Jinx and his crew ran them out."

Jak looked up from the flyer.

"Jinx what?"

Tess barely spared him a glance.

"They got lucky." She growled. "If I'd had my gun handy I'd have _shot them_. How dare they, how _fucking dare they_?! Come here! With _that_!" She snarled, inarticulate with anger, and kept pacing.

"They _did_ get lucky." Keira piped up from where she was wiping down tables. The place was almost empty, it being that time of morning where everyone had something to do somewhere else. "There were a _lot_ of angry people around. I think everyone knew what was going on in the Stadium district and they knew _you_ were there helping out like always, so when some goons showed up to tell them their hero was a criminal… well, they came _in_ to this place with bits of food already splattered on their armour. I'm pretty sure I heard someone spit as they left, too." She smiled at them, brief and anxious and tight. "Which I guess means nobody here'll turn you in… right?"

Daxter's ears folded back as he hunched forward to meet Jak's eyes.

"Whatta we do, Jak?"

Jak didn't have an answer for him. Technically, they didn't _need_ to stay. The Metal Head nest was gone, the source of the KG bots had been dealt with and the bots themselves heavily reduced. The people in the Port were safer now than they'd been in years and even with Ashelin out of power it was unlikely that would change. Meanwhile, Jak had all six precursor crystals and the Dark Makers were getting closer every day. He had a planetary defence weapon to find and that wasn't a job that could be hampered by becoming a fugitive again.

Any proprietary feelings for the city and its people, fond or otherwise, were ridiculous.

"No point making trouble." He observed neutrally. Daxter edged forward further, bracing himself with a palm on Jak's chest.

"But weren't we gonna go hit up the palace?" He hissed. Jak had filled him in as best he could on the conversation he'd overheard in the temple between Veger and Seem. About all he could recall now was Veger being pissed at Mar for keeping the entrance to whatever - the weapon, presumably - to himself. Seem had cautioned that Veger wouldn't be able to get in. Veger had disagreed.

"You know," Dax persisted "that same palace he _owns_ now? And will probably have heavily guarded with peeps all freshly reminded 'o _your_ _face_?"

Jak dropped the flyer on the computer console and rubbed a hand over his eyes. He ached all over, despite most of his damage being healed courtesy of Samos. A persistent green-eco-rash was chafing against the back of his shirt and he just wanted to go hit the sack for a few hours.

"Maybe Onin will know a secret way in." He grasped for ideas. "Or Ashelin. Or, hell, we can always try the same route as last time and go in via the support tower."

"If you're talking about breaching the palace-" Ashelin's voice came from behind them, slightly after the woosh of the opening main door. "-then you might want to think again. That was the first security loop I closed, all those elevators operate on biometric security now. Also;"

She hustled in and Jak's eyes almost fell out of his head as he looked at her. Gone was the red and revealing blue of her normal uniform, in it's place was a workman's set of jeans and a cotton, form-fitting shirt. Straps and belts allowed her to keep pouches and weapons close, but a thick scarf around her neck had been pulled up over her head like a hood. She lowered it as she dropped a heavy-looking duffel by her side and turned to face Jak, eyes slightly averted as she spoke.

"I've just been accused of treason against the state, for illegal mobilisation of the city's military." Eyes at half mast to hide the bitterness in them, Ashelin faced her fugitive status without shame. "Veger's put out a warrant for my arrest. I'm formally asking you, as the son of King Damas, for asylum - wherever it is he ended up."

Jak, Dax and Tess stared. Keira dropped a plate. Ashelin sighed, dropped her shoulders and met his gaze, open and honest.

"Please, Jak. I-I need your help."

**J&D J&D J&D**

I'm pretty sure the fun stuff I did with fonts and images (for the flyers) in my version won't translate to ff.n. Sorry 'bout that! Total bummer.

I had _way_ too much fun naming people in this chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

More evidence for why I should never post-as-I-go: In my plans for this chapter was a guy who lost a leg to the bugs when launching the attack on the Agri-sector. He got very bitter and anti-Jak about it. Unfortunately, he didn't get written in as surviving in an earlier chapter, so now he doesn't exist any more.

Ah well. I hope you enjoy!

**J&D J&D J&D**

"_I've just been accused of treason against the state, for illegal mobilisation of the city's military." Eyes at half mast to hide the bitterness in them, Ashelin faced her fugitive status without shame. "Veger's put out a warrant for my arrest. I'm formally asking you, as the son of King Damas, for asylum - wherever it is he ended up."_

_Jak, Dax and Tess stared. Keira dropped a plate. Ashelin sighed, dropped her shoulders and met his gaze, open and honest._

"_Please, Jak. I-I need your help."_

"Wait a minute!" Tess waved her hands sharply. "How can that be legal? You said yourself that you had command of the Guard till this morning."

Ashelin barely spared her a look.

"And I did." She said flatly. "…technically."

"Technically?" Tess' eyes narrowed in furious suspicion. Before Jak and Daxter's startled eyes she took a half-step in front of them and squared off with the ex-leader of the ex-Krimzon Guard.

"Explain yourself. Right now." Tess demanded. "We've got enough problems without you pulling _more_ trouble down on us!"

Ashelin looked bored, everywhere but in the slitting of her eyes.

"I don't answer to you." She said coldly. Tess sneered at her.

"That's been _very_ obvious." The blonde replied scathingly. "What with the way the Water Slums - the area given to your family by the _King_, yes? - has prospered into New Haven whilst the rest of the city stagnated. I know dozens of people who had their right to residence bought from them, by you, at a pittance; only for their homes to be turned into luxury buildings for a higher class of citizens. Even when you _did_ answer to the people who needed you most, your answer was to turf them out!"

Two spots of red appeared high on Ashelin's cheeks. Embarrassment or anger, it could be either one. Biting back her first response, her eyes closed for a moment, then opened.

"That was only the first part of a long-term plan." Her words were clipped, her jaw tight. "Funds were needed urgently for all kinds of things my father had neglected. The nobles weren't willing to donate and I wasn't willing to lay a tax on people already struggling to get by so I turned to the traditional method of raising money - my land-base. And I didn't pay the citizens of the Water Slums 'a pittance', I paid them _above_ the fair market price for their right of residence! After completing the renovation of the Water Slums and with the new income, I had every intention of pushing forward with the rest of the city - even if it meant simply donating to the other lords to fund their own revival projects."

"Like that money would have gone anywhere but their own pockets." Tess sneered. "And it looks like your lofty plans fell through - just like they have now. Because that's what happens when you gamble with people's-"

"Okay, _enough_." Jak said firmly, setting a hand on Tess' shoulder. He squeezed it slightly in thanks. Once again he'd been slapped in the face with his own ignorance and Tess had unwittingly given him a little more insight. He'd admired Ashelin's work in the Water Slums, although he hadn't realised the people who'd used to live there - the poorest of the poor who had nowhere else to go - had been evicted as part of the deal, paid off or not.

"We've got bigger problems right now." He continued. "Ashelin, frankly, I have no idea if I even _could_ do what you're asking and I'm a little pissed off that you'd ask in such a public place considering _certain things_."

"Yeah," Daxter piped up, sounding amused at the dressing down of a woman he didn't like nearly as often as Jak did. "'Ole spikey-head himself sure wouldn't be happy about it."

Ashelin glanced at them both, then around. Her stance slumped a little in silent acknowledgement that although Keira and Tess _were_ allies, the knowledge that the ex-King was alive and well in the Wasteland was still privileged. And she had not bothered to check for eavesdroppers, accidental or otherwise. In a way, that very lapse in sensible security showed just how anxious, how off balance, she really was.

"You may as well have a drink." Jak offered. "Whatever happens, it's not going to happen right away - and take it from us; being fugitives is _way_ easier than they want you to think."

The look Ashelin shot him was partly disgruntled, partly amused and mostly annoyed. Still, she grabbed her bag and stormed over to one of the back booths, sitting so that she couldn't be easily seen from the front door. Keira eyed her with distaste, but brought over a bottle of something anyway.

Left behind, Tess unclenched her fists and turned to Jak.

"Sorry." She muttered. "That woman just.." She mimed strangling her for a second, before quirking a tired smile at her two friends. "I didn't mean to butt in."

"Baby," Daxter was quick to quip. "Your butt? Is _always _welcome."

Tess rolled her eyes but grinned.

"Well, anyway, I didn't hear anything _about _anything." She promised.

"Thanks Tes-"

A scream interrupted them, followed closely by rifle fire and soldiers yelling for people to clear the area.

"Arm up!" Jak shouted, bolting for the door as Tess raced for the bar. Out of the corner of his eye as he left, he saw her jump it cleanly only to come up with a weapon bigger than _she_ was. He'd have to trust her to take care of Keira. Ashelin would no doubt be making tracks for a back exit, if this was Veger's lot come to arrest her…

It wasn't. That became immediately obvious, what with all the _Dark_ _creatures_ teleporting in around the Port. They were oddly few in number, but each one packed a punch. Aconite and her men had run drills with the civilians on what to do should their defences be breached - probably not ever conceived of quite like this - but it was proving its worth now. People flowed off the streets and into buildings, panicked but not panick_ing_. It'd be tight quarters, but the soldiers needed a clear battle field if they were to stand a chance of repelling the invaders.

Jak cut a sharp look around and yanked out his jet-board to cut across the water. The floating residences were the most vulnerable right now. He'd turned his rifle in after the last mission and his fingers itched for it now - or better, another morph gun. Ones like his were rare, though.

A quick thought - easier and faster every time - and he flashed into Light mode before stepping to the side of time. Anything that got him there faster…

_J&D J&D J&D_

Clarity, named so by a mother who'd hoped her daughter wouldn't repeat her mistakes in life, leaned over to coo at the baby in her best friend's arms. They were sitting in one of New Haven's pristine miniature parks.

The two of them had been separated when the attacks first happened - Clarity, shopping in the bazaar, had been swept off to New Haven. Absinthe, named by her mother for similar reasons, had been trapped in the Slums before being swept into the Port.

"Wait, so _nobody's_ on rations in the Port?" Clarity repeated disbelievingly, absently using a lock of her hair to tickle and entertain the baby. "Not even the non-productive?"

"Nobody." Absinthe affirmed, with a touch of pride. "I heard from Carol who heard from her husband that Mr Jak is a Wastelander - he went out and personally hunted down artifacts to sell to Kras for supplies! Everyone gets together and shares, but we all get plenty. In fact, I'm eating _better_!"

Clarity 'tch'ed.

"Ain't it just typical?" She sighed. "We've all been worryin' and pityin' you lot and you've been doin' better'n us!"

She ducked her head, letting her hair fall forward to shield her lips.

"Mikael and his lot - they've been saying our rations are whatever's left after the noble lines get first look." She said softly. "They've got a pal who works over in supplies. Says it's really real, not just muck-stirrin'."

Absinthe gasped as expected, though there wasn't much true surprise in the sound. She knew where Clarity was heading with it, though.

"Not so down in the Port." She reported, a trifle smugly. "Mr Jak's always off doin' somethin' important and all his deputies - volunteers, right, like you and me - and the guard? They eat the same as the rest of us."

Clarity sat back and tucked her hair behind her ears. She spared a smile for the gurgling baby and looked around.

"I don't suppose there's room for more?" She asked at length. "Mikael - he's set to start a fight any day now, just outta pure unfairness. He got told the other day, that if he wants more to eat he'd better sign up."

"For the Freedom League?" Absinthe scowled. "I guess a zebmule can't change its stripes after all. Next thing, it'll be _no _food unless'n you sign up." She bounced her baby lightly and sighed. "I really had hoped lil' britches here would have a better life."

She glanced up.

"A lotta people in the Port are volunteering, though." She cautioned. "They might not be too happy if people come and expect not to have to pull their weight, like here in New Haven." She ducked her head down, lips brushing over her baby's downy head.

"Truth be told," She admitted "I'm still thinking it'd be better to move _here_. Mr Jak's done amazing things, he really did save so many of us, but the Port is no place for a baby. And this is the stronghold of the city now. It feels safer."

"Maybe you can take my place?" Clarity offered glumly. She didn't like the idea of being split up again, but couldn't imagine staying much longer - even for Absinthe. "There's posters up at the transfer points, warning everyone to stick to their areas, 'member? The toffs don't want a flood, either way. But maybe we can arrange to swap."

Any answer Absinthe might have given was lost, as _something_ appeared suddenly in the air behind her. A clawed tail lashed forward, puncturing Absinthe through the back of the throat, before wrenching brutally out as the horrific mix of machine and flesh rose higher and opened fire indiscriminately.

Sprayed with her best friend's blood, snatching her infant from dying arms, Clarity didn't even hear herself scream.

_J&D J&D J&D_

"Clive, if you're pullin' a fast one…" Jinx growled, chewing on his cigar. "You _know_ what I said I'd do to you, right? This ain't the time to get cute."

Clive glared back, arms crossed as he leant against the wall behind one of the Port's larger warehouses.

"I ain't lyin'." He snapped. "I wasn't gonna say nuthin' - I only heard it from a buncha kids, after all - but I did some diggin' and a whole lotta weird crap started showin' up. Fer'xample:"

He ticked one finger. It was the middle one, but Jinx ignored it for now.

"Those suits who always salute him. They take his orders, 'specially the woman, like it comes direct from the Precursors themselves. That ain't normal, 'specially for a known ex-crim."

He ticked another finger.

"I checked the public records, and the kid bears an uncanny resemblance to King Mar. _Un. Can. Ny._ Now, maybe that's deliberate - maybe someone's tryin' ta pull a scam, but it ain't all."

He ticked another finger.

"Everyone knew the Underground had an heir to the throne, right? Well, a point for it bein' _him_? One of the whores who walks the Plaza was there the night the Baron arrested all those Underground idiots. Torn and that floating green asshole. He saw a blonde with a giant orange _rat_ go _in_, but he didn't seem to be there by the time the KG hit. Only other place he could've gone was inside the tomb - which everyone knows is bloodline-locked."

Jinx shifted.

"Baron blew a hole into it." He argued. Clive shook his head.

"Not till well _after_ the arrests were done." He asserted. "I know this guy, he sells info on the side. He don't say nothin' unless he's sure."

Jinx chewed his cigar, rolling it to the other side of his mouth.

"There's an easy way to test it." Clive cajoled. "One little theft, one little touch, that's all it'd take."

Jinx scowled.

"And then what?" He demanded. "We all take a knee? That ain't how I roll."

Clive spat.

"Jinx, you rounded up a crew and assaulted the _guard_ today. For Jak. You've _already _taken a knee and ain't _no-one_ gonna believe you haven't chosen a side neither. If Jak _weren't_ some heir to the throne and he said today he was gonna stand up and take down the ruling class, what would you do?"

Jinx drew a deep breath of smoke and blew it out, hard.

"I'd follow him." He admitted grudgingly. "I already am. _Precursors damn it_, I don't wanna be no royal flunky."

A long, tense moment later and the smoking criminal nodded sharply.

"Fine. Get it, test it and spread it. If it's true, I ain't keepin' mum. Everybody deserves to make whatever choice they make, _knowin'_ everything there is to know."

Clive grinned and hurried out. Jinx dropped his cigar and ground it out with a curse.

"I sure hope you ain't, Jak." He muttered. "It just won't be the same."

_J&D J&D J&D_

Deep within the Palace, Veger snarled. At his side, two monks stood like emotionless statues.

He could _feel_ their smugness hiding under paint and rubber. As if living so foolishly bereft in the desert somehow made them wiser, when Veger was the one with records dating back to the time of Mar. Just because the seals wouldn't open for him, despite his wielding the sceptre, didn't mean they weren't supposed to! Damas had likely sabotaged them before he left, just as greedy as his ancestor.

"We'll simply have to destroy them." He announced grimly. The shorter one, the male, stepped forward.

"Impossible." The monk drifted a hand over the door, then the wall behind it. "The stone is but a facade. As is in our records and as I can sense here, the tunnel and its entrance is constructed entirely of Precursor alloy. It runs throughout the palace, like roots though the soil. You could no sooner remove them than remove the tower."

Veger paused. His lips thinned. His right hand slid into his coat.

"Indeed." Was all he said, before spinning and shooting dead both monks. Their bodies dropped to the ground, expressions of surprise breaking their falsely placid faces.

"That is precisely what I will do."

He stepped over their corpses, knowing that none would find them until it was far, far too late. Twenty minutes later saw him back in his new office, adjusting his plans when a peon burst in with an anxious report of a renewed attack upon the city.

Excellent. Now was the perfect time for a little public eradication of filthy Hora Quan. He gave the orders for his new army to do precisely that, after which they were to return people to their proper locales. It was frankly ridiculous how long Madam Praxis had allowed all manner of unwashed citizens to crowd only two sectors of the city. They were fortunate no major outbreaks of disease or unrest had resulted.

Orders given, he informed his aide that he would be unreachable for the remainder of the day, then set out to re-establish a certain valuable contact.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Jak snarled and tackled one of the larger ones - like an otherworldly trooper - to the ground. His Light was long exhausted, along with the rifle he'd lifted from a dead soldier. All he had left was his Dark.

It was more than a match for these creatures. They were strong, he was _vicious_. A clench of his claws and a flex of his muscles was all it took to rip one of the trooper's own spikes out and stab it back down through its skull. Its death fed him and Jak launched himself from one to the next to the next. He could keep going like this forever. There weren't enough to overload him faster than he was using, not like in the cave with Sig - and there was even a chance he _couldn't_ overload, not any more.

…Not that he wanted to _test_ that theory surrounded by innocent people as he was.

"WHOO! YEAH! TAKE THAT! THE DAXTINATOR IS CLEANING HOUSE!"

Behind him, clunking along in an oddly graceful way, was Daxter. Tess had dug up an old titan suit and retrofitted it specifically for her 'badass baby'. With more articulation in the joints and hair-trigger reflexes, it was _almost_ as agile as Jak himself.

It was also almost twice his height and fully equipped with both blasters and rockets. Dax was going _to town_.

"BABY! I LOVE YOU, BABY! FORGET EVERYTHING I EVER SAID ABOUT A HAREM, OKAY? LET'S GET MARRIED!"

Even as Dark Jak, he bared his teeth in a grin. If Daxter was shouting that over the comms, Tess'd pluck him bald.

He leapt and managed to snatch one of the hornet-like creatures, ripping its tail up and back with enough force to tear its spinal cord entirely from its body. A splash of dark eco fire against his shoulder prompted more rage than pain but he didn't let the attack distract him away. He and Daxter were covering the retreat at this end of the bridge. A lot of people seemed frightened by him, but also seemed to get over it pretty quickly. It probably helped that he was actively protecting them at the time.

Bolt had appeared at one point, complete with inappropriately starry eyes and had to be dragged away by his friend. Jak had growled at them both to get them going.

"Aww crap - Jak! There's something happening right in the middle!" Daxter yelped. Being high up in the suit, he could see further. "We should- no, wait. Um. Okay, I got it Jak, don't worry!"

Before Jak could get together the focus to actually _speak, _Dax had fired thrusters much more powerful than usual and was flying overhead, accompanied by a terrified Ottsel shriek. He landed on his feet - well, _a_ foot - well enough though and started smashing at a cluster of creatures so Jak turned his attention back to his own battle.

And almost got clawed by a stealthy trooper. Three rapid-fire blasts of red eco shot it down before it could connect.

Jak turned, black eyes finding one green one.

"Gettin' sloppy there, rookie!" Sig greeted him cheerfully, seeming completely at ease despite the fact that the last time he'd seen Dark Jak, the monster had genuinely tried to kill him. He shot down three fresh enemies then lifted something from his back and tossed it to Jak.

"Little gift from a _ver_ypissed-off father."

Jak caught it, Dark fading away as - in one smooth move - he shifted it from its compact travel form to blaster mod.

_Precursors_ it felt good to have it back in his hands, even if it wasn't the exact same as his old one. It was certainly better for the long-distance enemies too, _keeping_ them long distance and away from the fleeing citizens. He hadn't realised how much work Daxter had been doing, until he was doing it himself.

Well, him and Sig.

"What's he angry about?" He shouted back. Sig looked _amused_ more than anything else, so it couldn't be too bad.

"Oh, I dunno. Three o'clock! Nice. Maybe something to do with his critically-injured son taking off without word or warning - and also without the bodyguards he decided you were havin'. Any of this sounding familiar?"

Jak's ears bent back a little despite himself.

"I didn't exactly plan it." He defended weakly. "Stuff just… happened. And I'm not injured any more. Some… other stuff happened to fix it. I'm fine. Everything's fine. Except this little attack right now. Thanks for bringing my gun, by the way."

Sig just laughed, especially when Jak accidentally triggered the gun's secondary scatter mode and almost blew his foot off.

"Keep up, Rookie!" He called out, keeping enemies off Jak's back more than the Havenites. "Or get left behind!"

Jak threw him a wild grin. Together, they eradicated any invading creature stupid enough to get within eye-shot.

_J&D J&D J&D_

Blood streaked the streets but the invaders were repelled.

For some reason, they'd never appeared in anywhere _like_ the numbers the Metal Heads had. Given the creature's ability to teleport, that was a miracle no-one wanted to question.

"Onin says, the Dark Maker ship is still too far away for more to be sent." Pecker reported soberly. The old Soothsayer had just turned up at some point, already waiting in the bar for the post-fight gathering.

"Onin says, the closer they get, the less energy it costs and the more will come. Onin says, we are royally plucked. Well, okay, _**I**_said that, but I know she was thinking it!"

Onin smacked some light eco his way with a scowl. Pecker ruffled his feathers and edged away.

"Onin knows a lot of bad words." He muttered.

"They're being sent to weaken us."Samos stomped back and forth, too agitated to float. "Just like the Metal Heads before them."

Leaning back against the bar, Jak cast his eyes over the gathering. Onin was seated on one of the booth tables, Pecker on the edge of the computer console. Ashelin was standing _by_ the console, typing furiously into it to get updates from Torn. So long as she didn't actually speak, there was no evidence the Commander was in contact with a wanted criminal - should the line be monitored. Ashelin was just a soldier looking for orders right now.

Aconite stood to Jak's right, her rifle ready in her right hand but pointed at the ground, seeming for all the world utterly oblivious that two fugitives were within her sight. Argo was outside, running the redistribution of forces to account for an enemy that could just teleport in right past their defences.

"We're lucky they don't seem able to teleport indoors." Aconite muttered. Jak nodded silently. He had a hunch they wouldn't be able to teleport _anywhere_ with a solid structure above, even one open to the air. He didn't recall seeing any appear _under _the various tarps of the housing area after all, only in the immediate open areas surrounding them. It was a small defence, but it was something. Was it possible to set something up over all of Haven?

Keira was out taking reports from the civilians - major losses and damages and such - and Tess had taken one look at Jak's new gun and promptly confiscated it. She was most likely now in her workshop not getting any rest, despite having steadfastly defended the Naughty Ottsel with only Ashelin and her pistol for backup.

Sig stepped in and Jak made eye contact with him, tilting his head back. As the big Wastelander made his way over, all it took was a glance from Jak and Aconite left to take a look at the report Ashelin was getting for herself. It seemed to take a moment, but once the Captain remembered that Ashelin wasn't her superior any longer, she had no problem reading over her shoulder despite the redhead's pointed look.

"Sig, what would happen - hypothetically - if Baron Praxis' daughter asked for asylum in Spargus?" Jak murmured, too low for anyone else to hear. Sig tilted his head in thought.

"Well, hypothetically, Damas would toss her ass in the arena. If she made it out alive, he might - _might_ - accept her request. Do I wanna know why you're askin' this?"

"Probably not." Jak sighed. "But I think you can guess. She sprung it on me before the attack just now. She's been accused of treason, Sig. And-she's my friend. I think. I'm pretty sure."

"Well, with such a strong recommendation." Sig drawled sarcastically, turning slightly to prop an elbow on the bar.

"Now listen, Cherry. I need to know what's doin' the thinkin' here. Your upstairs or your downstairs?"

Jak blinked blankly at him for a moment. Then he got it. And glared.

"Neither." He grumbled. "It's why I'm asking _you_ for advice. I don't know what to do, Sig. She's not a bad person - she really isn't. She tried her best and yeah she dropped the ball here and there, but I how can I blame her when I don't even _really_ understand how her whole…" He gestured, looking for the word "_political world_ works? I can't say I'd do any better, unless it was just a matter of shooting people."

He sighed and glanced around the room again.

"And she _has_ helped. She didn't kick up a fuss when I picked up the slack here in the Port. She sent some troops to help out, putting them under my command. She's warned me about trouble in the council-"

"She took your throne." Sig's deep rumble cut him off. "Damas' throne." His green eye was as hard as his artificial one. "She knew he was alive, knew enough to ask you for asylum, but when the _King's son _took out Kor and the Metal Head nest and cleared the path to the throne… she _took it_, without even tryin' to contact the King her father had betrayed and deposed."

Sig was _angry_ Jak realised. An old anger, but all the deeper for it.

"She's a greedy Havenite, just like all the other scumbags." Sig pressed. "An' worse, she's Praxis' spawn. Betrayal runs in the blood. You turn your back to her Jak and she'll stick a knife in it, just like _her_ father did _yours_."

Oddly, that just made Jak's decision easier.

"But I'm _not_ my father." He frowned. "And she isn't _hers_. Sig. If I offer her asylum, as - as Prince. Will Damas uphold it?"

Sig leaned back, his face twisting.

"…yeah." He said after a moment. "Probably. He's acknowledged you publicly. To contradict you on something as big as this - it makes the Crown look weak. I don't think you understand just how pissed he'll be, though. Are you willing to risk disownment?"

The very possibility hit like a blow.

He raised his head, and heart, against it.

"…it's the right thing to do." He said blankly.

"Why?" Sig asked, intense with pure bafflement. Jak met his gaze steadily.

"Because she'd do it for me."

_J&D J&D J&D_

"It's not looking good." Torn strode into the Naughty Ottsel, still defiantly wearing the old KG Praxis colours despite Veger already having ordered the troops to change to his own yellow. It was his one visible show of support for the disgraced ex-Commander and ex-Governor. Ashelin smiled to see it.

"Oh well _thank the Precursors_ that you're here to tell us that!" Daxter flicked his tail dismissively at the tattooed man. "It's not like we'd have noticed, what with all the _Dark Maker troops_ invadin' or anything."

Torn rolled his eyes at the loudmouth ottsel and joined Jak, Ashelin and Daxter at one of the booths. The room was otherwise empty. Memorial services were being held outside, but neither Ashelin nor Jak could risk attending so publicly. With every passing hour, more and more yellow-painted troops were visible. Some of the Port guards had stubbornly kept their precursor paint jobs. Veger's men had attempted to arrest them and had nearly been torn apart by an angry mob. They'd settled for shouting threats whilst retreating.

The background hum of the city was winding tighter.

"I _meant_ with Veger." Torn retorted wearily. He nodded questioningly at Jak's half-eaten meal, then again in thanks as Jak slid it over.

"We're _used_ to being _attacked_, after all."

It was a grim truth.

"So what's 'ole Virgin done now?" Daxter made a show of inspecting the space between his toes. "Declared all rescued citizens from the Stadium district accessories to a traitor?"

Torn snorted in short-lived mirth.

"It wouldn't surprise me." He said between forkfuls. "I'm startin' to think that maniac is one monk short of a choir. When the attack began, he ordered the troops to 'clear out the Metal Heads' within the hour. I tried to call in to explain these were unknown creatures with teleportation abilities but he was 'out for the day'. His prior orders, for after we cleared out the minor attack he seemed to be thinking we were having, was to re-settle the people who'd sought refuge in New Haven - particularly the Slummers."

"You didn't!" Ashelin exclaimed. Torn shot her a sour look.

"I didn't have much choice, did I? I put it off as long as I could, insisted on check after check, stalled the organisation, called Veger over and over to explain this was a new enemy - but his foot-licking toadie just warned me that any disobedience would be seen as disloyalty and I'd be arrested for it same as you."

He shrugged.

"And if I let it get that far? My replacement would have just shifted them anyway. At least I could impress upon them all to stay indoors as much as possible, maybe share accommodation with those closest to New Haven and be ready to run there in case of another attack. I'll try to post patrols as often as I can, but…" He shrugged again, then looked up - hard - at Ashelin.

"Why are _you_ still in the city? Veger will trip all over himself to pin the attack today on you." His eyes flickered lightning-fast to Jak. So, he'd known something about her plan for asylum then.

"You said earlier that Veger has the wall under constant air patrol." Ashelin reminded him. "Like the attacks are coming from the outside. I can't go out the usual way. I've been thinking about it though. C'mon."

She slid out of the booth and moved over to the computer console. The three men followed her over, Torn quickly shovelling down the last few bites of his meal.

"There's an old access point to the mines here." Ashelin pointed at the map, a red circle obediently appearing under her fingertip. Tracing the map with his eyes, Jak realised it was in the Stadium district. "The subterranean wall was sealed off centuries ago, though. There's no guarantee we'd get through."

"Well with the Count ordering wall patrols to shoot first and ask questions _never_, it's our best chance." Torn grunted. "A few explosives should be enough to make a small hole. A little more should close it right up behind you, too."

"Just to be safe, you should seal the Stadium access point behind me." Ashelin decided. "I won't risk compromising Haven's security."

"Well, technically you still _are_." Daxter observed from Jak's shoulder, arms folded. "What if the explosives _don't_ seal off the mine behind you? What if some Metal Heads start nesting and one stray explosion up _here_ lets them out?"

Ashelin looked down, brow furrowing as she instantly rethought the plan. Torn glared at the ottsel.

"We don't have any other options." He growled. "Veger could declare martial law at any moment. Like, as soon as he gets back from wherever he'd getting his pedicure done and realises we're facing a new enemy. Then he can have Ashelin - and you two - executed on sight. Even if I have to go down with her-"

"No." Ashelin interrupted, looking up at him. "The guard- the Freedom League can't afford to lose another leader. They can't be left with only Veger in command."

"What difference does it make?" Torn argued. "I'll have to follow his orders anyway-"

"But if there's a chance to buck them-"

"I'll be declared a traitor too and _be shot_ by my own men."

"They wouldn't."

"Wouldn't they? Some, sure. Others? It's not easy to know which orders are the right ones and we can't expect men and women _trained_ to obey, to suddenly buck the ones we don't like."

They stared at each other for a long moment.

"Then go to Jak!" Ashelin turned to Jak, beads clicking. "Jak, this city is heading for a revolution, like it or not. If you'll stand up as rightful heir to the throne, you'll give the people - including Torn - some legitimacy for disobeying orders."

"Woah, Ashelin-" Jak raised a hand. Torn was faster.

"You _want_ to split our people?" He asked incredulously. "With more of those Dark Maker _things_ on the way?"

"Veger is _**counting**_ on that situation to prevent it!" Ashelin defended. "He's using this entire scenario to keep our hands tied whilst he acts with impunity. It's already won him more than we can afford to lose. If we keep fighting the way we have - from the sidelines - we'll be nothing but outlaws to be put down and the mixed feelings of the armed forces and civilians alike _will_ eventually express itself through uncontrolled violence and protests followed by a return to draconian control measures. Everything we've made better about this city - gone!"

Torn studied her for a long moment.

"If we do this," he warned "there can _be_ no taking it back. You realise that? If we win… it'll be under _Jak's_ banner. The _House of Mar_'s banner. It'll restore the throne of Haven."

Ashelin shook her head sharply.

"It can't be worse than _this_." She said tiredly. "I worked so hard… everything I tried to do for this city was an uphill battle. And it all stands to be _undone _because of one man. At least we _know_ Jak. At least we _trust_ him."

"Hey!" Jak cut in sharply. "Don't I get a say in this plan?"

The look Ashelin turned on him then was pure poison.

"What do you want me to say, Jak? Pretty please put aside your wants for your _duty_? I'm sorry the betterment of thousands of lives is cramping your _style_? If I could think of a way for you to help that just involved _shooting things_ I would, but I _can't_ because we're backed against the wall and this is our last option!"

Jak bit back his first response, fighting the urge to _fight_.

"Look." He said as reasonably as he could, lowering his tone. "I'm just saying that you _were_ doing a good job." For a split second, the memory of _rations_ and _compromises_ flickered behind his eyes. "And that if there's going to be any kind of civil war, surely the woman who has been recently _doing _that good job would be a better idea than some guy who'd have to jump through hoops first just to prove who he is. _And_ who has the whole 'escaped criminal experiment' thing in the background."

Ashelin set her own shoulders back, equally aware that fighting each other right now solved nothing.

"It's a fair point." She conceded. "_But_, and it's a big one, _I'd_ be the disgraced politician whipping up a mob to take power by force. I'd be the Praxis staging a hostile takeover, like my father before me. _You_ are the heir the Underground swore we had, _you_ can prove your heritage with any of the half-dozen blood-triggered relics left in the palace and _you_ have a recent history of taking in and successfully protecting a good half of the working-class in the city."

The room was quiet. Jak looked away first, thinking about the Port. It wasn't that big a deal. Was it? Sure, he'd had the idea to get organised but someone else would have eventually. Jinx even did most of the work, rounding up volunteers and going scavenging off his own back. Jak hadn't so much led as _managed_ a group of people who wanted either to help or be helped. He hadn't even really known what he was doing - the sanitation issue being just one example. If there hadn't been the others, people who stepped forward to advise or suggest or outright _tell him_ things that needed doing…

He quirked a smile.

"Fine." He agreed, smile widening as Ashelin blinked at him. "On one condition."

Deep green eyes narrowed at him.

"…What?"

"If this whole scheme works out, and I somehow wind up in charge? _You_ have to swear in as an advisor."

Ashelin jerked. Her face then had Torn laughing out loud. Recovering quickly, she faked a glare.

"Fine." She snapped. The two of them shared a rare moment of rapport, a moment that was broken when Torn coughed.

"Anyway." Ashelin returned to the map. "That actually brings up another possibility. Jak, Mar built these mines, long ago. It might be possible that you - and your seal - can open an access way without the use of any explosives."

"Any way we can know for sure?" Jak checked. Torn rubbed his chin.

"I can get someone to dig up the old maps."

Jak nodded. "Do it. Either way, I can escort her out-"

"Hey! I don't need-"

"I'd appreciate it." Torn ignored her.

"-and make sure Damas doesn't drop kick her into the Arena. Apparently all newcomers who aren't long-lost princes have to prove themselves, in an 'only one survivor' sort of way."

"You think I can't handle myself?" Ashelin bit out. Jak levelled his own look right back.

"I think it's already a stupid enough tradition _without_ putting the person formally granted asylum in there as well. Besides." He rolled his eyes. "I'm not letting you get out of our deal _that_ easy."

"So we have a plan?" Torn checked, glancing from the map to his ex-boss then his new boss.

Ashelin straightened, hands on her hips, and nodded.

"We have a plan."

**J&D J&D J&D**

_Would_ she Jak? Would she _really_ do it for you? Hmmm.

And I know the DM creatures could teleport into, at least, the temple BUT you only ever face them on the streets in Haven and Spargus so… I'm thinking the temple was special? Maybe they landed outside, went _inside_ and then could teleport point-to-point?

All these fantastic Veger names suggested by Yami DoD and I only got to use _one!_ At least it was the best one.


End file.
